The Winter Boys
by Darren Brimhall
Summary: Just what is Walter PinleySteward doing?  Kim and Angel try to find out before it effects her family
1. Chapter 1

One.

I never knew Ian Wilkenson, high-flying businessman who drowned two months ago, during an all-night yacht party involving liquor, women of questionable virtue, and lots of suspicious chemical substances. Apparently, Mr. Wilkenson decided to 'take a walk' and fell over the railing. Nobody knew he was gone until a police patrol boat found the body floating near the yacht around dawn.

Nor have I ever been acquainted with Charles Rowe and Phillip Barker, noted venture capitalists who personal plane brought them to a fiery conclusion on a Bermuda Airstrip a week later.

John Rother and Paul Werrow are likewise two more I've never met. They were Barristers, involved in Law like Walter Pinley-Steward, hard-as-nails Barrister, Businessman and Moderately ranked Noble with considerable range, so opportunistic that he'd gut his mother for every last shilling she had, (if she had any), and to whom I must state is my great misfortune to know.

Rother, I understand, like to drive anything fast. A blown tire at high speed on a narrow Italian mountain road sent him flying into a deep ravine then onward to his Maker at the earlier this month. Werrow however, who was still bright and vibrant at the advanced age of sixty-four, came to a less than spectacular end after a fall down a long flight if stairs at his home two weeks ago.

A broken neck, that's what the Doctors found.

"But he had the grace of a bloody ballet dancer!" Pinley-Steward, all some nearly three-hundred pounds of bigoted pig in a fashionable tweed business suit, wails from his chair to Father, as Kimball Wildman and I listen in secretly from the partially open door to the study. "I've personally seen him take worse, and walk away beautifully!"

My Father, Lord Jonathan Drummond, the Forty-third of the Family to bear the family title, very youthful looking for a man in his seventies, leans against his grand oriental desk in his casual clothes, rubbing his eyes in the way that indicates a major migraine is on the way. Semi-retired to the Noble life from years as a field agent for MI6 in Asia, he's occasionally called in to 'deal' with the 'special problems' of the Notable and Nobility when they arise. While I know he prefers the quiet life of advising Her Majesties' Secret Service on matters and current events, Father does his best to get to the bottom of these special matters sent to him.

But, in peeking around the door with Kim, it's easy to see that he wishes Pinley-Steward would take his problem elsewhere.

"Each and everyone, hunted down and murdered!" the 'well-respected' Barrister continues pleading. _"It's bloody diabolical!!"_

"Wilkenson fell overboard." Father dully reminds him.

I know he wants to say it; _Leave me you god-forsaken excuse for a man!! _But he maintains a very high regard for himself, and will never bow down to Pinley-Steward's level. But, by duty, he has to be concerned over the man's safety, no matter how many times that vile bigot made life for his family miserable with spread rumors and constant backstabbing—beginning when Father broke his arranged marriage for the woman who'd become my Mother.

I really hope he doesn't give in to him. What Kim's thinking, I cannot guess. He's acting as my guard from sudden surprises from the rear; I know he's listening in as well. There's a definite look of deep concern on his scared face.

"All of them, gone with-in this very year!"

"But there's no viable connection to each of their deaths to hang such a belief on." Father tiredly explained. "Each incident was fully investigated, and concluded—"

"By inbreeds who couldn't find their own asses with help!!" Pinley-Steward fitfully erupted back in Father's face. "None of them with any christen sensibilities to speak of!!"

Pinley-Steward in full angry bluster is quite a ferocious sight, especially to those of thin skin whom it's directed at. Father however has been around the world too many times to even begin wilting from such an onslaught, especially from Pinley-Steward. His face darkens with every bit of anger welling up form within him.

And too late, Pinley-Steward realizes he's gone too far.

"It's because of arrogant fools like you that most of this world's currently in the sorry state it's in." Father cut loose with an eruption of his own. "Personally, I loathe you for what you and others have personally tried to do to _my_ family over the years! And why should I ever bother considering you worth my time and effort?"

Now Pinley-Steward's pleading for forgiveness, squealing actually, like a skewered pig. It was hard enough not to start laughing at a man who richly deserved what he was getting. But Father preferred his consultations private, neither Kim nor I were invited to listen in.

Still, it was fun listening to that bigot get his come-uppance from the very man he's tried so often to ruin.

But, sadly, Father finally gives in.

"_Alright_! I'll look into the matter!" He irritatedly barked back.

Now Pinley-Steward was blubbering thank-you's at such a state, I wondered if wasn't about to kiss father's feet in or wet himself in gratitude.

Of course, Father would have stopped that. He never liked his shoes soiled.

Then Kim leaned over, whispering into my ear, "Shows about over."

It was time for a quick exit, and we made it to a near-by doorway before they left the Parlor.

"You certainly won't regret this, John—not at all." Pinley-Steward happily gushed as he waddled along side Father. "I most certainly feel better about it already!"

Father certainly wasn't. The smile on his face was merely show. It lacked any reason to be as he walked Pinley-Steward along.

We emerged after they had long passed. I frowning while Kim had a very thoughtful look on his face.

"Interesting." He remarked.

That set me off.

"What!?" I exclaimed.

Kim's scared face (and I do mean really scarred, especially that horrible one that runs across his face just below his eyes and right through the bridge of his nose) was a picture of deep consideration.

"He genuinely believes his life is in danger." Kim thoughtfully replied, gazing off down the hall.

"He's an arrogant, self-centered bigot who just simply adores being the center of attention wherever he goes!" I hotly exclaimed back, wondering where his mind was at that particular moment. "And not to mention how many times he's slandered my family because—"

The sharp stare he gave me then halted my rant quite quick. It's his eyes, those whirling pools of gold flakes that when he turns those on you in such a manner it feels like they're boring right into your very soul.

"Then." He directly asked me, "Why would he risk his very reputation by lying to your Father?"

That, I admit, had me and good.

Reputation was everything to Pinley-Steward, and to tell an outright lie to my Father was asking to have his head served back to him on a silver platter. Forget about all his powerful friends and what they can do for him in a pinch, Pinley-Steward was risking all, and everything, and then some if this was all a lie. It still didn't change how I felt about him, in spite things being different. But Kim had his reasons for acting as he did on the matter. Trained since he could walk to be something of a 'super-detective', Kim was right sensitive towards anything out of the ordinary. As this, like his mixed extraterrestrial heritage, was clearly was out of the ordinary.

Tact however was something he still needed to work on. For as he caught up with my Father, as he stool watching Pinley-Stewards silver Rolls head off down the way, he asked, "Certain he'll be safe?"

"As long as his heart doesn't give out, or someone actually does kill him." Father tiredly sighed, then turned to Kim politely irritated. "I generally like keeping my business private, Doctor."

"My pardons," Kim apologized. "But the yelling gave it away."

"And the door to the Parlor wasn't properly closed, either." Father frowned, glancing between Kim and myself. "So you both know."

After drawing a tired breath, and apparently deciding that it wouldn't be worth arguing about, he tiredly turned to Kim and asked, "Do you think it's worthwhile?"

"There's no mistaking that he's frightened by this." Kim truthfully answered

"Really?" Father boredly responded.

"The one factor that's present in all of his friend's deaths is '_Accident_'." Kim started explaining. "Even with-in the time frame, all those deaths occurring is quite unusual."

"They can be…considered such, yes." Father nodded slowly.

"So _what_ _is_ the connection that Walter Pinley-Steward feels exists that would make him die next in an accident?" Kim asked.

Now Father was surprised. Apparently he hadn't given that bit of consideration much thought.

"There's no real reason for him to be afraid." Kim went on, "Unless—"

"Unless there's something else involved." Father finished. "Something he didn't bother telling me about just now."

He now looked considering, as he thought about what Kim told him.

The he frowned back along the drive.

"Typical." Father commented off-handedly.

"It sounds more like something he did is catching up with him. "Kim unflinchingly replied.

"He's done a lot of 'things', so I don't find that a bit surprising." Father quickly added, then paused as if a thought occurred to him. "And he wants me to protect him from it."

Kim didn't respond. Not even a nod.

"Well then." Father glanced up at him, now smiling, "Let's see what we can find."

We started with the logical approach; the examination of the accident records.

It took awhile, and several contacts later, to find the autopsy report on the late Mr. Wilkenson in the possession of his personal physician. This is a term I'm using loosely, since apparently there was some question about _where_ he received his license to practice from and weither or not he was just a glorified drug-dealer. But when convinced by the legitimacy of the request, the requested records were sent by Fax straight to Father's office.

Of course, the toxicology report wasn't amongst them. That had to come from where Mr. Wilkenson made his last stand, in Greece just off the coast near Athens.

The Greek Authorities weren't as balky as the personal doctor, and performed a more though job which their records showed. Especially where Kim wanted to know.

"Viagra?" Kim was puzzled by the report he had in his hand.

"Or something of the sort." Father helped. "He had…a reputation."

"And a daily consumer of numerous stimulants and pain killers." Kim added with a motion to the report. "He was downing twelve of them at once, with goodly doses of alcohol. His blood was a virtual toxic soup."

Not really too much to be alarmed about, though the pictures of Mr. Wilkenson's various wilted innards were highly unsettling for me to look at. Except Kim, of course.

"The organ damage is serious; his liver is practically gone and his kidneys have significant stone deposits."

Father was busy looking at the first page of the report. I don't blame him a bit for not looking at those pictures. I've had my personal fill of 'internal views' during numerous dissections in Biology Class, and wish no more of such thank you very kindly.

"Initial death was caused by drowning." Father read from his sheet. "Brought on by excessive amounts of alcohol and medications…"

"Given the potency of what he was taking, along with the state of his organs, it's a wonder he didn't die much sooner." Kim stated. "I'd give him less than a year with no hope of getting a transplant."

"He'd find a way." Father told him directly. "He was a fighter, he would have found one."

"Substandard, and probably the wrong blood-type." Kim frowned. "And left on the table, while whomever ran with the money…But, these stimulants…"

Kim had the toxicology report in one hand, and in the other a list of what his 'Doctor' had prescribed. He was looking from one to another with a careful eye to what each said, pausing just so at two points.

"Two stimulants found in his blood weren't prescribed by _this_ doctor." Kim quietly said. "And from what I remember, they're performance enhancers banned by the Olympic Committee."

"Given the certain facts on who he was with and what he was doing on that yacht before he died." Father tiredly announced, "I'm not surprised."

Nor was it enough to claim '_murder_', but in the meantime there was the information on the other accidents to dig through.

Misters Rowe and Barker had been in South Africa had been sizing up a fledgling electronics manufacturer for possible venture capital investment before heading off to Bermuda where Rother, Werrow, and Pinley-Steward were waiting to have their delayed wake for Wilkenson. The Slipstream Executive jet they were in was perfectly fine all the way up till thirty minutes before it was due to land. And did, at a forty degree slope relative to the runway destroying it, passengers, crew, and some ten meters of runway.

Crash investigators found no fault with anything on board the jet, but couldn't explain why the pilot couldn't or didn't answer the radio right up to the moment of impact. Bodies pulled from the wreckage, (more pictures), were too badly burned for any sort of test to determine anything beyond identification by dental records.

Very suspicious. But there was very little hope of considering it more than just a _'Strange Accident'_.

Finally, there was Misters Rother and Werrow. Neither of them had any sort of oddness about their deaths; Rother was passing a small car at very high speed on a winding Italian mountain road when a tire blew, and Werrow was not only in perfect physical shape but had blood so clean you couldn't help but call it '_squeaky_'.

He slipped on a small throw rug and went flying down a winding staircase to his death.

How dull…

"Well," Father finally said, motion his hands upwardly, "that's it."

Kim just looked at the reports on the table, hoping to find at least something odder to continue but not. He wasn't mad, just sort of dazed sitting there.

"They were friends, correct?" he asked in a disconnected way.

"Cambridge, during the late forties and early fifties." Father answered with some hesitation. "Getting those records will be a problem."

Actually, it would be very simple for Father to get them. The problem was Father being dodgy about the matter. He wanted it to end so he could get out of it and away from Pinley-Steward's '_problem_'. I couldn't blame him, but Kim posed the problem of how to say _'no more'_ and still be polite about it.

"There's also the matter of finding anyone who'd remember them." Father continued. "And weither or not the incident you believe is at the heart of all this ever occurred."

"It doesn't strike me that he'd take these incidents and use them to lie to you." Kim frowned, motioning to all of the records we'd sorted through. "It would soil his reputation to no end."

Actually, that wouldn't be such a bad thing to occur. I know Mother would be very pleased if it did happen.

"I've seen behavior that was no different than Pinley-Steward's coming from people even I respect." Father countered, trying to being respectful towards Kim's feelings on the matter. "They get frightened at a few little measly things, and suddenly their whole world begins collapsing around them."

Then his Cellular phone started chiming in his jacket pocket.

"Then, I must pat them on their little hands and tell them all is well," Father smiled while getting the phone out of his pocket of his smoking jacket, "and there's nothing to be really afraid of."

Kim gazed a little crestfallen and deeply perplexed at the documents scattered before him. He turned to me and asked, "What do you think?"

Before answering, I glimpsed at Father frowning down on this phone's screen.

"Police?" He muttered wonderingly, and proceeded to answer.

"I think we should forget about it." I honestly told Kim.

Then Father took on a serious stance.

"_Where!_" his sudden demand startling us both as we watched Father quickly take a pin from his jacket, then rapidly write down on the nearest bit of paper a location on the near-by Motorway.

"Keep him calm, I'll be there." Father directly said, then snapped his cellular phone closed.

And turned to us.

"Someone's attacked Pinley-Steward on the Motorway, killing his driver!" He announced.

10


	2. Chapter 2

Two.

He always preferred to travel in style, openly flaunting his wealth. Not that I personally care, if Pinley-Steward wanted to be the center of attention—fine.

But he'd never travel in _anything_ unless he was personally assured of his safety.

People like him make enemies very easily, people who wouldn't give a fig about the Laws he always so easily wraps around his little finger to free friends and clients from what they so richly deserved. To this extend, his Rolls contained armored plating skillfully hidden around the car's inner body. What made it so perfect is the fact that the MK5 model, as with all preceding models of the Silver Shadow, always rode heavily on it's tyres due to an all metal construction—there was no way you can tell there was anything giving extra protection to it's chief occupant.

This would also be extended to the driver, a very valuable component to the car, since who he drove for was too fat to sit behind the wheel even with the seat fully back.

When Father, Kim, and myself arrived in Kim's Roadster, the first look I had of that machine was that it was sitting surprisingly upright but cockeyed in a shallow roadside ditch with the driver's side window pane missing. Several police and EMT's working with a large yellow bundle on a stretcher near the front on the Driver's side of the car.

I could easily guess what that was.

Other Police were directing traffic through the area, but with Father's presence expected, we were allowed into the perimeter they had set up parking next to the Police Van where Pinley-Steward was all under the watchful eye of the curious lined up on the westbound side of the Motorway. As he went to see him, Father directed Kim and me to look over the area.

"Tell me what you see, and think." He instructed while sending us on out way.

Our first stop was, of course, the Car.

He had been heading east towards London when the event occurred. And by some very fortunate stroke of luck, the MK5 managed to cross the westbound lanes without hitting anyone before crashing into the ditch. Here, there was no concrete and steel barrier to separate the lanes just a grassy strip that was kept neatly mowed.

Kim looked at it a lot more longer than I would have, noting the spray of gore that coated the entire blown out window frame of the drivers door while sizing up the thickness of the glass, before moving on past the wreck under the watchful eyes of several policemen till he stopped at the MK5's tyre marks on the ground. There were a second set of such marks in the grassy meridian between the Motorway lanes, starting at the west bound side a little ways from where another group of Policemen has put up safety cones.

Kim walked along a little more further, glancing at the westbound lanes as if figuring something out, before stopping.

Then he just happened to turn around as a Policeman approached him. Being too far away to hear them speak, I could only guess at what Kim was asking. But I do know that he pointed back at the Police Wagon, and then to me.

I'm known, you see. And after a glance in my direction, the Policeman points toward the western lanes while explaining something to Kim who nods before going back to mental figuring

Then he looks around, getting a good lay of the land.

The Motorway cut through a wide meadow that was bordered to the west by a thick grove of trees to the west that stretched southeasterly before drifting back to the west. Kim turned to the portion nearest to us, seeking something that only he was looking for…

Then stopped, raised his arms outwardly before him slowly moving them inward and out.

Finally, I just had to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Figuring an area to search in." He answered nonchalantly, lowering his arms.

"For what?"

"Car tracks." He smiled while turning to me. "Or something big enough to hide an Anti-Tank rifle in."

Simple, it would need to be mounted, given the height of the grass in the meadow. There would have been no way to even stage a shot lying prone on the ground, a thick swaying wall of green would hampered anyone's aim from that kind of position.

A very obvious and direct observation.

So, with Father's blessing, (and help from the Police), Kim and I crossed over to the East-bound lanes and hopped the waist-high wire fence. Actually, Kim lifted me over after vaulting it swiftly, and together strode off in the direction where he figured we'd fine a clue. Tramping through all that thickness made me wish I had trousers on and not the light dress I was wearing, and a hat to ward off the sun.

But it also got me in line with Kim's thinking; making me do some visual surveying of my own.

The glass that was blown out of the Mk5 was at least three inches thick, which the projectile hit at an angle. A .50 Caliber Sniper Rifle with an armor piercing bullet could do it, if the bullet in question was a customized load—a 'cut-down', most likely, from something larger, specially fitted to the case already charged with a highly potent powder load.

The bed of a lorry would be perfect.

But the shooter would haft to be an expert, knowing exactly what car he'd use…and what path he'd take.

It was just too obvious.

"You think this was staged?" I asked Kim.

"I'd bet on it." Kim answered quite sure of himself. "Now, why?"

'_Why' indeed?_ This was way too elaborate. Pinley-Steward, gambling with his reputation like this, just to make Father believe he was being stalked, bordered on sheer madness. It didn't fit for him to do something that would destroy it utterly.

"I can't think of anything logical to explain this." I confessed after several minutes of mentally trying to. "If there was someone stalking him, as he claims, there are many more obvious places where to kill him."

"True." Kim nodded.

"And to know that he was coming down the Motorway—_that Motorway_—they would have had to have known before he went on the trip. They could have easily killed him. Shooting the Driver wouldn't have done the job, since that Rolls of his could be hit by a tank, and he'd walk away without a scratch.

"In fact, why not stick around for a little and plug more rounds into the car? They'd kill him off surely…If that's what they wanted to do."

Kim stayed quiet the whole time, thinking over everything I was saying. Then, he looked back at the Police Van, now distant with a perplexed frown on his face.

"Just what _is_ going on?" He wondered.

During the next couple of minutes, spent puzzling the matter out while walking through the high grass, Kim and I found what we were searching for in a rather anti-climatically.

It was a lorry, a medium one, gauging from the way the tall grass was flattened by the vehicle as it was driven from the point where they began in the meadow near the edge of a small dirt road that ran along the tree line. Nobody driving along the Motorway would have given a Lorry sitting out in a meadow a second glance; they'd figure it belonged to a local farmer. But a simple matter to call Father on, he could relay the information to the Police, and they to their fellows in the area.

After that, there really wasn't much else to do except deal with Pinley-Steward on the drive back home. After, of course, convincing him that Kim's Roadster _was_ fit enough for him to travel back to London in.

I personally know of only a part of what that car is capable of, since having ridden in it before1 under some really extreme circumstances. Explaining that to him, however, would lead to things best left unexplained for the time being, and unknown to the likes of him for many reasons.

But then, the best thing for him to travel in would be a Police Anti-Riot vehicle with its layered armor and heavily armored windows—that's if he could fit into the thing in the first place. Those vehicles sit high, and Pinley-Steward doesn't do well on stairs—plus they're expensive to operate, and I know 'he' doesn't have the pull to over come that obstacle. And he hates flying, so what else was there besides the Police Van which he couldn't fit in anyway?

So with a great deal of teeth gashing and howling (due to the small size of the rear seat in relation to his very large backside) we got him in and were off to London…

Listening to him whine all the way.

"Now are you convinced that someone's trying to kill me?" He blubbered while holding a towel against the only injury he suffered in the crash; a slight bruise to the forehead.

"Let's just say there has been _'intriguing developments' _occurring. "Father replied in his diplomatic best.

Weither he knew or not, Father touched off a bomb for Pinley-Steward then raged, _"Intriguing Developments!!_ What in the bloody hell do you think you are—_a comic!!"_

How Kim didn't flinch when Pinley-Steward practically screamed right behind him was a testament to his self-control. But the, he may have been thinking of other things on the drive to London.

"I'm being stalked by a ruthless, cold-blooded killer who's already done in several of my old school chums—and all you want to do is crack jokes!!"

"Why?" Father then asked.

"_Why!!_" Pinley-Steward shrieked with astounding volume, "You're the one who wants to make a fool of himself!"

"Why were your friends murdered then?" Father calmly responded. "And why do you believe you're next? I find that intriguing."

"Because of who I bloody well am, that's why!"

Better excuses have been uttered for lesser things. I know, because I've used a few in my time. But when I glanced back over my shoulder, there was a very defiant, if not chastened, Pinley-Steward glaring back at Father.

A moment later, he glanced ahead. And seeing me, his face darkened a little more.

I just smiled right back.

I am constantly reminded by the stroke of fate that steered Father to Mother, and enabled them to marry.

Southeast Asia in the mid-seventies was reeling from the fall of Vietnam, and a good many in the West were worried sick over the possibility of further Communist-backed expansions into the region. Father, reasonably fresh from University and Naval Intelligence, was recruited into Military Intelligence Branch Six and sent to the Australia-New Zealand area to keep an eye out and on any groups who advocated subverting of the democratically elected governments of the region.

It was a dull job with the occasional amount of excitement popping up (but never from any communist groups), but somebody had to keep watch on all those annoying little groups because they could easily set aside their differences and become very big troublesome groups, or be contacted by even bigger Communist groups to be their front men.

And serve he did, until his own Father took seriously ill prompting his return to England. But by then, he had taken a real shine to a tall, leggy, attractively proportioned woman of Spanish-Aboriginal birth with bone-white hair and miss-matched eyes—and would not leave her to a vile life on the Sydney docks.

His father though was the old fashioned type, arranged marriages between noble families and all and everybody else in their right and proper place on the ladder. But when Father arrived home with who would be the Mother of my three older Brothers and Myself, there were plenty of raised eyebrows, shocked gasps and numerous fainting spells amongst the 'polite society' along with the real threat of disinherency if he didn't get rid of that dark-skinned 'Dock-rat Trollop'. However, before any real movement in that direction could occur, his father suffered his second and fatal stroke. Friends who were more open minded than most back then, quickly pushed thru the transfer of Title and Estate to Father before his father's lawyers could block both it and the marriage as well.

In the years since, I am proud to say that My Parents have proven a good many of their detractors very and utterly wrong—just has their children have by succeeding quite handsomely in their chosen professions. Over time, they've managed to win back old family and friends who were extremely bitter over the marriage at first, but have since admitted they were wrong.

And then we have the Pinley-Steward's, who'll never admit they're wrong—like the captain of the ship who constantly tells his passengers everything's fine and there's nothing to worry about even as the ship is sinking fast. They feel perfectly justified in making our lives miserable because Father broke with traditional values.

But I digress.

After telling Kim where Pinley-Steward's London residence was, Father sat back and watched it promptly displayed on the windshield complete with a mileage counter and detailed directions that changed the closer we came. Father had already taken the liberty of calling ahead to the security office that oversaw the residence, and all that left was Pinley-Steward sitting there gazing at the map with a totally surprised look on his face.

I wished I had one of those Camera-Phones to capture the expression on his face, Mother would have been quite happy to have a copy.

His Security People were there already in force, as were a few uniformed Police and detectives from Scotland Yard all there because of what happened, and they chased us down into the Garage where Father had Kim park his Roadster.

"Police." Pinley-Steward bitterly said under his breath, "Now I wonder when the Press will be showing up."

I kept my smile to myself, and quiet as Father addressed the Police and Security people after identifying himself and us. The England of Sherlock Homes is long gone, replaced by a Police force who doesn't take kindly to civilian interlopers investigating high-profile crimes. But within the power of his Title and Governmental Contacts, Father was doing Kim and I a favor by making sure the Police knew us and why we were there, so there wouldn't be interference from them as we did his bidding.

"Be sure to give the place a real going over, top to bottom." He told us quietly, as Kim took a small satchel case from the boot of his car. Pinley-Steward was already having a go-around with the Police that Father had to quickly move in to break up "Go through everything, if you can. Anything suspicious, stand back and let the Police deal with."

Of course, that didn't seem much likely to occur. As we, along with the Chief Security Officer for the place, a Police Detective and three well-armed uniform Policemen, made our way towards the interior, Kim quizzed the CSO, a slightly weather beaten and portly man with a walrus moustache, about the place and the possibility of illicit entry.

"Not a bloody chance." The CSO blubbered, and he soon demonstrated why. At both the elevator and a stair entrance in the Garage, there were combination thumbprint and keypad entry devices that could also be opened with a magnetic card in emergencies.

"The Cards are kept secure in a special vault." He explained, "I'm not authorized to have, or use, one. That would be my Supervisor."

But he could open and operate either the elevator or stairwell with his left thumb and keypad code. He started for the latter when Kim requested he open the stairwell door instead.

"I doubt the elevator's big enough for all of us." He explained.

The stairwell was something else. While the 'residence' was a former four story apartment house in the very posh part of London, remade entirely to suit Pinley-Steward's vast ego, the stairwell reminded me of a high-security military bunker where I often worked early in my RAF career. Concrete slabs, which the CSO explained were 'steel reinforced' as were the stair steps we climbed upward on. And at every access door in the stairwell were more of those Keypad/Thumbscanner/Cardreader devices.

"What, he expecting a bomb to hit this place?" One of the Officers questioned.

"Not my place to say." Wheezed the CSO, trudging up the stairs in the front, "That's a question for the owner. He wanted it and could afford it. It's not my place to say that he shouldn't."

But it _was_ his place to say that we couldn't go further than the third floor, declaring the fourth and rooftop to be off limits to us. When pressure was applied, the CSO responded with a flurry of excuses that all boiled down to the simple fact that he had been forbidden to. If we wanted permission to search, we'd need to file the proper papers with his Supervisor who'd review them as soon as he could.

He appeared quite happy in telling us that, in fact.

The Police didn't really have a search warrant for the entire place, in fact they had no warrant what so ever. So they had to contend themselves to where the CSO was allowing them to go.

Nor did they have a Persuader, which Kim was using at the time to keep his Edrailian identity safe. And after quietly wrapping his arms around my waist, he used the device on the CSO and the Policemen…

And they no longer acknowledged our presence with them, leaving us alone soon afterward in the stairwell.

Oh, quite a lot of mischievous things, all involving Kim, did cross my mind at that point. But in all seriousness, I didn't want to dismay my parents with such antics.

And we had more important things to do…Starting with the Roof.

Its access locked by one of those multi-use security locks, anyone not as observant as Kim would have been daunted by it. Because all he did was punch in the CSO's Personal Code.

"He never used his thumb." Kim explained, while opening the door for me.

The roof wasn't all that ordinary, as it was dominated by several skylights surrounded by sea of soft gravel that crunched underfoot and several spotlights on low stands set strategically around the roof's edge with motion detectors that would trigger the lights which would foil any attempt to break in by that avenue, as was the finely wired skylights as Kim pointed out.

After looking over the large central air units, we found no trace of sabotage to either their control boxes, or any jimmying to the air intake units. So we went back down one floor and repeated the procedure with that door's lock.

Pinley-Steward paid top price for the floor's furnishings, turning it into one gigantic personal apartment paneled with dark mahogany with matching padded leather furniture situated on a deep shag carpet of white. Various porcelain vases and lamps were arranged here and their, along with marble statutes, a giant Pub bar complete with stools, and several framed portraits of the god-awful man himself looking smugly down from the paneled walls surrounded by clusters of smaller pictures showing him in events and doing things I personally know he'd never do on his own.

Quite frankly, it turned my stomach.

But Kim was more interested in searching for other things, such as secreted compartments and other hiding places. Granted, it took my mind off of being sick (which really wouldn't have done me any good, though it would have given the place a lovely touch of color), and it was quite fun to 'redecorate'. But disappointing to find no such secret places.

Then we found the bedroom.

It took up about third of the remaining half of the floor with the same dark mahogany paneling and white shag carpet, a large desk, and more of those god-awful portraits on the walls. But in here was a massive bed with shimmering silk sheets and blue soft cotton blankets, all made so perfectly I know a few drill sergeants would cry with absolute joy that there _were_ people alive who can make a decent bed. The remaining space was divided between a spacious bathroom, with a large dark marble spa and matching wall panels, toilet, sink and walls with gold fixtures and lots of mirrors, and a spacious wardrobe. A double-wide door on the left wall granted entrance to both, and a second one on the left got you into the bath. The Wardrobe didn't have such an obstacle, but it was just amazing how many of those gray tweed three-piece suits he has along with his other wares for evening, sporting, and lounging.

But no pajamas, how interesting.

Meanwhile Kim was rooting through the drawers of the Bedroom's Desk in methodical fashion. His small satchel sitting on its flat surface.

"On to something?" I quietly asked, after peeking at the main door.

He motioned to a gold framed picture on the desk. "What do you think of that?" he asked me.

It was a special frame; six inches high but twice as long to fit a clear black-and-white picture of eight handsome young men standing in a grassy field wearing Rugby uniforms. Right off I spot Pinley-Steward; he's the middle one holding the ball with that same smug expression that gazes down on me from the walls around me. Above their heads, written in fine felt pen are their names. All his friends, the dead ones he claims were murdered…

One had '_Queer'_ written over his head.

Another, standing next to Pinley-Steward on the right had _'Fool'_ over his.

Kim quietly closed the drawer he'd been going through.

"Disturbing." I whispered to him, because it was.

"The picture, I figure, is about fifty years old." Kim quietly explained. "Don't worry; I have a copy of it." He nodded towards his satchel while he spoke. "It may prove to be something—"

"In what way?" I whispered back, "There's not much of anything that could float his claims. Hell, haven't we figured that the Motorway attack was staged"

"I don't know." Kim frustrated whispered back, "Several people are dead, many of them in that picture. On the whole, none of their deaths are connectable in any way _except for_ _the fact they knew Walter Pinley-Steward._"

For the moment he started at me, those eyes of his swirling at an agitated rate.

Not a very comfortable sight to behold, I can easily say.

"I never make assumptions without delving fully into everything I can." He slowly explained. "And nothing here makes any sense except for that picture. It's the only real thing that does."

I glance down at it. Eight young men smile back at me from fifty years ago…

Even the ones labeled so vulgarly.

_Are they responsible for all of this?_ I wonder.

1 Midsummer Night

13


	3. Chapter 3

Three.

There was one more thing Kim found amongst the pens, papers, stamps that could be of help; a small address book in the bottom right hand drawer which Kim photocopied the pages of with the small digital scanner, part of a All-in-One device he carried around in that satchel.

When we rejoined the Police, slipping back in amongst them in the same manner we left, they were attempting to search the Pinley-Steward Law Firm on the ground floor wanting the records stored there on the possibility that a past case maybe the cause of the current situation. The Employee's weren't entirely helpful with the Police, especially in regards to any important cases their employer currently was working on. And really became sour when Kim asked where Pinley-Steward was headed on that last trip in his Rolls.

A pity we couldn't use the Persuader in there; too many people about, too many areas to search quickly with too many explanations as to why we didn't return with the Police would need to be answered. And I really didn't feel like taking a chance with it any more than Kim did,

Walking back to the Garage, I became aware it was now early evening.

Mother would be home now, and wondering where we were.

"It's all safe, nothing nasty found, where we were allowed to look." The Detective remarked after we arrived back at the Roadster.

Pinley-Steward fixed him with a sharp look and growl before Father could step in.

"Are you sure, _Boy?_"

"Positive." The Detective coolly responded, "But I would like to have a look at the phone records of your office, and the individual employee's cellular phones."

Pinley-Steward's face took on an unnatural red color as he revved himself up to yell, but Father stepped in to cut it off.

"The murders may have been tipped off by someone in your office." He explained.

"_Preposterous!!"_ Pinley-Steward exploded "My employees were utterly loyal and trusted by me!"

_Just what is going on?_

I wondered about that while curled up alone in the Roadsters rear seat, dozing off, as Kim and Father went over the events of the day up in the front during the drive back home. But there was no denying that Father was disappointed in how our searching went.

"If there were any notes sent to him, I doubt he would have kept them." Father remarked. "Especially if they contained personal references….You say this picture was on his desk?"

"The private one in his bedroom." Kim replied. "Him and friends during their Cambridge days."

"With one labeled a homosexual, and another a fool. Certainly wouldn't leave this out for people to see. But the Address Book's interesting. Some of these names I recognize as being part of a nasty Trust Fund scandal five years ago."

"Oh?" I imagined Kim perking up when hearing that.

"But, Pinley-Steward wasn't openly involved in the matter." Father went on. "Yet, here's the number of the Barrister who defended those charged."

"The trial was a short one, I'll bet."

"For lack of evidence….So," Father then asked, "what do you think all this is?"

Kim didn't say anything for a while. Being lulled by the car sounds as we drove was pulling me closer and closer towards sleep, when Kim's clear voice pulled me back, "Pinley-Steward is scared, _that_ I still believe to be evident. But the attempted murder on the Motorway is too unusual. I'm tempted to say it was staged, but for whose benefit and why?"

"You're reluctant to state that Barrister Walter Pinley-Steward arranged to have his Driver killed?" Father then asked, somewhat surprised.

"Until there's evidence to support such a claim, there's no point in making the claim." Kim responded.

There was no immediate response from Father on the matter.

I opened my eyes a little, to see the trees go whizzing by—and wonder how close we were to home.

"I can give you a few reasons, Doctor." Father's low voice broke the quiet. I can imagine him frowning as he usually does whenever he remembers all that was done to us by those bigots, especially Pinley-Steward.

"Seems rather far-fetched that he'd use this as an opportunity to get back at you over marrying outside your status." Kim replied, before quickly adding, "Angel told me."

"I know." Father quietly replied, "She told us about _you_ as well."

And there was an uncomfortable silence that Kim finally broke after several seconds.

"Well…it would be rather hard to hide."

"Don't worry." Father calmly reassured him. "There will be no Military or Secret Service coming to take you away, at least for _that_ reason. But I will say that they are very interested in speaking to you about Warlock. General Colton's burning up a lot of favor so you can walk freely again."

I could hear Kim draw a breath, perhaps to speak. Father prevented it though by adding, "Don't worry your self about it. As far as her Mother and I are concerned, you're worth it…Now, don't miss the turn-off up here."

That last part meant the Lane which ran past the Mansion, making it only a minute or two away from home. But the rest, Father is quite hard to lie to. Mother is as well, especially since she had to drive past the crash site on the way back from London—and was waiting for us at the front door wanting an explanation.

"You mean he wasn't killed." She was terribly disappointed at being told the news.

"No, unfortunately." Father sighed. "But it does raise a lot of questions."

"I'm just sorry that it wasn't successful." Mother continued, being the target of Pinley-Steward's bigot-driven attacks she had her right to be in such a bitter mood. "With the way he treats people, it's a small wonder that it doesn't happen more frequently."

"It's already happened to most of his close classmates." Kim innocently spoke up. "That's how we became involved."

Mother stopped and turned to him in the manner she always did that indicated trouble. Married to my Father and living the life of a Nobleman's wife, she could still be that fiery tempered woman born and raised in squalor who had to fight dirty everyday of her life.

And I worried that she had that bailing hook she favored back then on her. She could do some terrible damage to a man, or a woman, with that evil thing.

"To be quite frank, Sir," Mother angrily growled right at Kim, "the whole bloody lot of them can go directly to Hell and burn with all their self-righteous smugness and high-born attitudes. And there'd be very few who'd cry over that, _because I sure as hell wouldn't!_"

Kim didn't flinch in the face of that.

"Dear," Father soothing said to her, "he didn't mean to be crass--"

"But still managed to upset you," Kim put in earnestly, "to which I apologize."

Mother regarded him still in an angry manner. But it quickly faded to consideration.

"You pretty much understand by now the amount of grief that man has put upon this family." Mother evenly stated to Kim. "So you at least understand why I become so hostile?"

"I do." Kim nodded.

Stepping back, Mother appeared satisfied as she turned to Father asking, "Now why on earth are you even bothering to help him?"

"Apparently, he wants to us to protect him from something of his late friends doing." Father openly replied.

Mother was simply astounded, as were Kim and I by the statement. But Father kept going, by addressing Kim directly. "You've figured out that all this may have been something that Pinley-Steward and his late friends were all apart of. That leaves us two avenues of query to examine. First, all of his now dead friends were well into large business ventures. In fact, two of them at the time of their deaths were in consideration of a rather expensive venture. It wouldn't surprise me in the least that Pinley-Steward was handling the legal matters in that case, as well as any other business matters his friends were into. That may explain why you and the Police were rebuffed when you tried examining his Offices, it's just a shame you didn't find any such records in his private rooms—"

"_What!?"_ Mother alarmedly exploded. _"You went to that Pig's sty?"_

I nodded sickly. But Father quickly got back in control, "But secondly that photo and the Address Book. If that one boy _was_ as so labeled, he very much would have been expelled from school, and his parents would have been notified of his _abnormal _behavior.

"Probably would have been institutionalized as well, if he didn't take his own life in humiliation from the exposure. With that sort of mark on his record, he'd find it very difficult to be what he was striving for—or anything else for that matter."

"But, "Father continued, "let's consider the fact that Pinley-Steward knows this dirty little secret, and a good many others—especially the ones he keeps buried for his friends. How much power do you think it give him?"

Quite frankly, lots. Pinley-Steward would be in excellent position to reap plenty of wealth from each of the deals they made, both legitimately and under-the-table. Wealth he often used as he pleased.

"Now, he feels he's being hunted by a killer who's already done in most his school chums. Considering his character that would leave us an infinite list of those he's harassed, ruined, and incarcerated to go over. But when asked about specifics, his responses are vague. When pressed, he becomes irate and threatening… "

"Then someone must have found out something from his past, and is playing vigilante to punish them all for it." I put in, realizing where Father was going with this. "The murder of his Driver would just be an attempt to get us to believe he is being stalked by a killer."

It was a leap. But considering the circumstances, anything was quite possible and I wouldn't put it past him to have engineered the whole thing just to throw off those trying to investigating him for crimes while he remained in such a state?

It was perfect.

"What happened today would get him plenty of protection from whom ever is trying to kill him." Kim added. "Even if he wasn't responsible initially."

"But he wants _us_ to protect him." Father broke in. "_Specifically us_. Nobody else in his position _is suitable_ for the task. He knows the right people who'd refer him to me. And if there is a killer after him, _we_ unwittingly become his shield such attacks protecting him. It's the perfect revenge against this Family."

"Then turn it over to the Police, John." Mother urgently told him. "That Bastard's trying to harm us!"

"Mille, I wish. But all we have is speculation at this point." Father replied bitterly. "Without hard evidence, the Police couldn't touch him with anything that he couldn't worm his way out of in trial. And with this recent turn of events, we're stuck with this. This, we haft to do ourselves!"

Walter Pinley-Steward--Murder.

It had quite a nice ring to it. All we had to do was make him wear it.

If we didn't kill him ourselves for causing anyone in the Family harm while protecting him.

So as Mother busied herself with dinner preparations, Father contacted those he closely trusted in Six to start digging into Pinley-Steward's many lives; starting with his past, especially starting with the copied picture from the bigot's desk. These people weren't the Ministry-related people who sent him to us; Father avoided those folk on this matter because he figured they'd tell Pinley-Steward what was going on. No, these people could act freely in domestic matters without having to answer to any committee and deal with the foreign affairs.

And meanwhile, in the Guest room Kim occupied during his visit, he and I paid a call to General Colton over the portable Telecom he had brought with him.

Only it wasn't the General who answered.

"_Hi."_ Stalker smiled from half a world away. _"What can I do for you?"_

As we gave him the grist of what was happening here, G. I. Joe's resident Ranger swarthy face with from smiling friendly to definite concern, as the sound of rapid keyboard typing could be herd close by.

"_You know what Colton said about keeping a low profile, Doctor."_ He directly addressed Kim. _"They're still working on an official pardon for you."_

"I'm well aware." Kim replied.

"Unfortunately, Stalker, this trouble found us." I replied. "And we'd like to be rid of it quickly."

"_Trouble, has a very unfortunate habit of finding us all when we least expect it to, Ms. Drummond." _Stalker sympathetically replied_. "And because of it, we're kind of short here at The Rock; General Colton is in trouble in Washington D.C., Hawk, Scarlett and Ayers have gone to help him out. Duke's in New York dealing with an Agency matter that's quite touchy. And now you two go and get involved with a murder—"_

"Several." Kim corrected. "There's a possible pattern to all of this."

_"The BBC-Overseas already has it up." _Stalker stated, shifting his eyes to the right. _"That poor sinner was practically blown outta that Rolls."_

"The wrong sinner got killed." I frowned.

_"That's how it always is."_ Stalker coolly remarked, now looking to his left. _"Your man's got fewer scruples than a used-car salesman."_

"Oh?" Kim replied as we leaned in to listen closely.

_"Walter Pinley-Steward is suspected to be involved directly in several questionable business dealings in Eastern Europe and the EU itself involving tech stocks and imports from Russia, Africa, and both the Middle and Far East. The EU and the locals have agents pulling a lot of overtime into the investigations. They really want this guy's hide, and badly. But there's always something that ties up their efforts, so he still walks while they fume."_

Not surprising.

"Is this because of direct involvement?" Kim wonderingly asked.

_"Indirect." _Was the answer_. "Apparently, the late Ian Wilkenson was the cause of most of this grief. The guy had a very high lifestyle, which he shared with some nasty characters that the EU, among others, would love to see put away permanently."_

"What about his other friends?" I asked.

_"Not as deep as Wilkenson was."_ Stalker answered. _"He was the big player; everybody else just dipped a little, but they're all just as filthy."_

"And when they all did," Kim put in, "Pinley-Steward personally handled the legal details. That's probably why the EU bustin' it to nail him."

_"Get him, and the whole house falls." _Stalker nodded, before becoming serious with us. _"But this is all under the control of the State Department's Foreign Desk. G.I. Joe can't get involved with their business unless it involves Cobra or some other Terrorist group—them's the explicit rules."_

Which, unfortunately, was true. And given the fact that Briton keeps the EU at arms length on several matters, legal statues such as illicit business dealings due tend to get 'strained' (for want of a better word) by the hard feelings between Governments.

But then, given what Pinley-Steward has been involved with it certainly gave me an ideal. While Kim was figuring out how to best respond to what Stalker told us, I came up with the brainstorm.

"Lonzo, how far would it be stretching the truth to suspect Pinley-Steward having connections to either Cobra, any Terrorist Group—or both?"

At first he looked surprised by my suggestion. Then he became thoughtful.

"_Hang on."_ He told us, paying closer attention to the panel left of him. _"I want to go over this again."_

In the meanwhile, Kim glanced up at me smilingly.

_Brilliant, _he mouthed.

"_It looks probable. Wilkenson's activities would give probable reason to investigate"_ Stalker replied. _"I can send a brief along to State, but don't expect them to suddenly grant the request."_

_Bureaucrats_, the bane of human existence. By the time they finally get around to reviewing the request, I'd most likely be tending to my grandchildren.

We needed a reason to get them to move quickly.

I glanced at Kim.

He glanced back at me. There was resolution on his face that was unmistakable.

"Stalker," Kim then turned to the screen, "notify the State Department that I am here and involved with the Pinley-Steward investigation."

If they won't move quickly on their own, then you must give the Bureaucrats a good reason to. But this, even from Kim, was a bit much.

Even Stalker was shocked. _"Now wait—"_

"Look, we need to get at that information the State Department has." Kim began.

"_If THEY find out you're over there, there'll be hell to pay!"_ Stalker retorted.

"We're already in enough trouble." Kim calmly stated.

"Largely due to that fat, selfish bigot who managed to use his connections to have his problem dropped into my Father's lap!" I snapped back at the screen. "If he's been engaging in _'questionable activities'_, I know for a fact that my family would dearly love to have that information to send him away for good!"

I have my Mother's fiery temper, so Father says. Military discipline dampened the fuse a bit, but when I'm really irritated, usually in the face of those who are insistently immoveable on important matters, I just blow them right off their feet. But Stalker's not some twit bureaucrat who pushes paper. He's a combat veteran on _'ready-to-travel'_ notice to anywhere the Joe Team is needed to go.

When the angry fire waned, made me feel badly for yelling at him like I did.

"_Angel, chill." _Stalker sympathetically addressed me. _"I can tell this guy's all-around bad news, and can put in a request based on your suspicion. But it won't be quick reaching you, even with Doctor Wildman's involvement in the matter."_

"Then what about the murder attempt, and the involvement of his friends in several illicit business deals?" Kim pointed out. "Have the depth of those deals been examined for terrorist ties?"

"_They're still under investigation, Doctor. Like I said earlier."_

"Then, "Kim replied, "where would one get a weapon that could blow apart the windshield of an armored Rolls Royce?"

That made Stalker think.

"_Damn good question."_ He nodded. _"It might speed things along."_

It certainly did speed things along.

After dinner, which proved to be an interesting affair largely due to Kim thrilling us with stories of his exploits, (but he didn't shut off his Persuader, so he still looked reasonably human in appearance), Father called him into his study soon after receiving a private telephone call.

I, naturally, listened in through the door.

"I'll do what I can to keep them away from you." I herd Father tell him directly. "But it's not going to last forever. Waving the red flag like that, in front of the American State Department, of all people, is going to get you in a very bad way. Sooner or later, you'll haft to submit to an interview over Warlock."

I could just imagine what Kim looked like at that point. And, on top of that, imagine what the Interview would be like if Kim ever mentioned that he'd spent the last Twenty-two years of his life wandering around the Edrailian Universe until a freak happening of chance brought him back to Earth1.

Even I was worried, for I still recalled what happed to me after that matter. It took a lot of effort on Father and General Colton's part to get me released from Government custody, because of my failure to bring Kimball Wildman _'in'_.

Of course, it's a decision I'd gladly do again. Because in doing so kept an even bigger disaster from occurring.

"And to make matters worse, "Father continued, "he's being a royal pain with the Police. They can't get any amount of information out of him, and they don't dare pressure him due to his connections within the Courts and Whitehall."

"That's easy enough to figure." Kim grumped.

"I find that not at all surprising, not at all." Father agreed. "The pages of that address book you copied had several of their names and numbers written down."

Father started adding more, but footsteps coming down the hall made me bolt away from the door before hearing anything. I scurried into the Dining Room where Mother, with the Head Butler and Maid, had finished dealing with the table settings. One look at me was all it took for Mother to dismiss the servants with a look. And they, being very experienced with this Family, politely left us alone.

"Were you listening in on Father's conversations again?" she asked with that all knowing smile. "You know that's not nice."

For the moment, I stood there embarrassed. And very easy to see why too; I had rushed into the Dinning Room; normally I would have just walked in.

"It's why you fly a Harrier, and aren't a Spy." Mother continues. "Though, I can't say your father and I are terribly pleased with your choice. Seeing that we worry plenty enough over your older brothers."

But as she steps towards me, her smile hardens into a gaze of concern.

I brace for the worse. But it's something I'd never expected to hear from her.

"All things aside, your Father and I are still undecided about your male friend…He's definitely _different_, more so that I was coming here for the first time."

Mother is awkward standing there. Of course, she has good reason to be. This was one of those 'things' you had to be there to see and believe, and even I have trouble from time to time believing it some times. Though those moments are becoming fewer and farther between now.

But I realize that for my parents, those moments are going to be occurring a lot.

"Mother--." I begin to speak, but she stops me.

"Just give your Father and I time to adjust." She nervously smiles. "You certainly found yourself a lively one."

I nod. At least she's willing to give Kim a chance for my sake.

What more can I ask for?

Well, the telephone ringing wasn't on that list. But it did anyway, in the Hallway outside the Dining Room. Mother went to answer it, out of habit largely…

And she yelled long and hard for Father.

For reasons that were even beyond my Father's formable mind to grasp, Pinley-Steward had managed to convince the right people that he would be 'much more safer' on the Estate of the current Lord Drummond, than in his opulent London Townhouse with all its security and reinforcement.

It left us all reeling from the shock.

I swear Mother was ready to kill someone. I haven't seen her vivid since the time my brother David almost took my head off with one of Father's golf clubs as children. Father was angry as well, but did a better job of hiding it. As for myself, I was leaning towards Mother but not quite as loud.

But Kim stayed quiet and thoughtful almost in a reflective sense of the term as he was trying to figure this turn of events out.

"What a perfect bit of revenge! "Mother raged "We protect _him_ from whatever's stalking him!"

Then a startled expression appeared on his scared face.

"Or perhaps he's hoping you can't." He suddenly said.

It would be hard to believe that someone as intelligent as Kim was would say something so stupid sounding as that, I along with Mother looked at him as if he'd gone nuts all of the sudden. But Father looked interested as Kim explained; "I cannot see any other reason why he would impose upon all of you, especially after that tour we took of his Townhouse; that place is more secure than most prisons in existence. There is no reason for him coming here, unless he was planning on having someone attack him here right under our very noses—"

And suddenly it all made a considerable amount of sense…

"Like killing his driver." I added, to which Kim nodded.

"Sadly, there's no proof of that." Father stepped in, and turned to Kim. "But, I do understand where you are heading with this, Doctor."

Kim turned to face Father as he continued, "Any attack upon Pinley-Steward occurring here, can be quite ruinous to this Family in a good many ways."

Then, Father tuned to me, adding, "Even extending down to the children."

That made me very uncomfortable, but hardly surprising. Pinley-Steward's friends would go out of their way, out of revenge, to make certain that both my older brothers and I were either held back or banished from our chosen fields because of 'Father's failure to protect him'. He has significant connections in all those areas, and all they needed was the excuse—a very solid excuse to better get away with it.

"We can tell him to bugger off!" Mother suggested, but Father shook his head.

"As an agent still in Her Majesty's Service, I'm obliged to protect him." He said to Mother, but with a slowly forming smile added. "However, there are some things that I can do—and will."

Granted, Mother was very disappointed that one of those things didn't involve telling Pinley-Steward where to go. But it did involve a call to the hierarchy of MI6 for some 'help' in protecting Pinley-Steward, both openly and covertly. If he was planning on hurting us, he was going to pay and pay painfully.

Nor did we just leave it at that.

Pinley-Steward would be arriving late, in four hours in fact. There were matters involving his Staff, he was going to be bringing several of them along. The Guest House, behind and to the right of the main Manor, was a two floor affair that could hold several in a pinch. But it was for certain that Pinley-Steward and his closet cronies would try staying in the Main House which made Mother bristle.

But, it made the job for Six's surveillance people much easier.

By special helicopter, they were here and setting their equipment in place in Ninety minutes. And they were quite savvy to the tricks that could be used against their devices, so they set twice as many in place as normal—half on, half off. So, if Pinley-Steward found all of the 'On' ones, the 'Off' ones could be activated soon afterward by remote—like that nice gold pen set on the writing table. The Guest House was treated in the same fashion, with a few additional twists added for the ease-dropping into wireless communications. The beautiful part of all of this, as the Lead Technician explained to Father, was the fact that the entire system could be operated from a top-of-the line PDA—just like the one he handed over to Father.

"It's simple to operate, allowing you to tap in to all the rooms he uses." The Tech explained to Father. "It would be best to wait to see if he takes the baited ones before activating the rest. The Lead on this case is Palmer, he volunteered right on the spot when he herd the news. He and his seconds have similar systems, and one of them will get in touch with you if he dose take the bait as well as regular reports."

Mr. Roy Palmer, a very nice senior field man, who often rubs his bald head with his handkerchief making it shiny—jokingly of course. Some agree, while others don't, but he's one of the best field men Six ever had.

Pity he's nearly ready for retirement. I know he'll be sorely missed…

The PDA wasn't big and bulky, but about the size of a slim-line cell phone with protective cover that could be folded over the screen and function buttons. This, Father slipped into the pocket of his jacket.

Now for those Agents who were going to make a presence on the grounds, including Mr. Palmer, who flashed us a warm friendly smile, they were personally briefed by Father in the main drawing room. Mother, Kim, and I were there was well along with several members of the Household staff, mainly to show who we were, so not to molest us as we went about of daily business. Kim, of course, received the lion's share of this attention from those agents who were possibly figuring how their dossiers would look if they'd bagged the wayward scientist. But he appeared unfazed by it, standing there between Mother and I as Father made certain to the Agents that Kimball Clarke Wildman was, effectively, _hands-off_ for the length of their stay here. Which a few begrudgingly accepted.

After that, with about an hour left to spare, we were left to our own devices.

But not for very long…

Walter Pinley-Steward arrived in grand fashion, third in a procession of a ten vehicles two of which were giant lorries. Six bodyguards, four secretaries, twenty managers, a personal doctor, and all of their personal equipment—and then some.

Even with the additional security, we were sorely overwhelmed by this. But we had the last laugh because Pinley-Steward clearly wasn't expecting all that additional security, a clear fact that left him quite flabbergasted.

And I earned another evil look from him when he caught me smiling at his reaction.

"Considering that we don't know who, or what, is stalking you," Father cheerfully explained while leading him into the Manor, "so we decided on having extra security on hand just in case."

Mr. Palmer was there as well, standing by the front door smiling at us as we entered the Manor.

"Do enjoy your stay, Sir." He smiled to Pinley-Steward as the Barrister was escorted past.

I didn't see what the reaction was.

Still though, Pinley-Steward's business staff, at his arrogant command no less, repeatedly attempted to take-over the rooms of most of our House Staff, the room Kim was staying in, and my brother's rooms and the Library, quite rudely if I may add, before they were soundly banished by both Father and Mother to the Guest House with the rest of the lot. This lead to a confrontation in Father's Office, where Pinley-Steward stated that he needed his staff close at hand' so his safety wouldn't be at risk. Certainly Father could see the reasoning in that.

"A walk in the country won't kill you." Father frowned.

"There could be a sniper, or some other lot, in the trees!" Pinley-Steward retorted.

"Are you saying you don't feel safe here?" Father coolly responded. "You can always return to that fortress yours in London."

Father did have the right to bounce him right off the property, with no worry of reprisal from whomever Pinley-Steward, now struggling to counter what was just said (though what was coming out sounded more like strangling to me), to him. Faced with this unbowing obstacle, he had to relent to having his entire personal Staff exiled to the Guest House.

That place hadn't been converted over to a more modern phone system, yet. Father never seems to get around to having it done. So the Pinley-Steward business empire took a significant hit in the area of communications…

Well, it's not our fault they didn't bring enough wireless routers.

The next morning started early.

For those of us who are in the Military, regardless of social standing (though rank can be a consideration), maintaining our physical well-being is a constant requirement—especially if they, like I, are considered _'Active Duty'_. So, before the sun even begins to turn the sky from black to purple, I'm in my warm-up suit out on the lawn doing my required duty for Queen and Country.

However, Kim's up as well and doing his own isometric exercises—among other things.

"Want to perform a breaking-and-entering with me?"

"In my own home? Goodness, what would my parents think?"

But as Kim explained, it was a necessity. Pinley-Steward's personal guards managed to locate all of the bugs Six left in the Guest House, and even the ones in the room that bigot was using. Of course, he really couldn't raise a stink with Father over it since Father could still easily evict the whole lot of them as annoyances. Unfortunately, Father couldn't really tip his hand by revealing his part in their being there without being quite thoroughly rounded on for 'invading Pinley-Steward's privacy'—or some other rotter excuse.

So, Kim decided to add a few of his own to the mix.

"I'm of the mind to think that he was tipped off." Kim explained as we made our way to the back of the Manor. "All were located in under an hour."

"You've forgotten that fiend has his fingers in a good many things." I pointed out to him.

"Will you forgive me for it?"

"Actually, you make things bearable."

I think Kim smiled at that. His scared face was largely in shadow, so telling was difficult. At the rear door, we halted. There, Kim took out a few interesting items from his equipment belt. The first looked like a pair of sunglasses with the clip-on side protectors, which are quite popular in desert regions for keeping blowing sand out of the wearer's eyes. Putting them on, I found them to be night-vision glasses that literally made night (or in this case, the early morning) into broad daylight—perfect for creeping through the dark house with. The next was a box about the size of a cigarette pack, which inside contained several marbles…

"Listening devices," Kim explained. "good for thirty miles."

He'd already left several, along with wireless ease-droppers, in the Guest House before I met up with him.

In another case he produced, there were several small murky green glass marbles held in a soft padding. These contained knock-out gas, he explained, good for thirty minutes, and were placed into a hidden compartment of the belt he wore.

"We can do a lot in that amount of time." I grinned at him, to which he replied with a knowing look.

"Lets stick to planting listening devices and a little poking around." He smiled. "The rest we can do later."

Honestly, I think he misread me. But I can be a little 'loose' sometimes.

Pinley-Steward's immediate company, mainly him and his bodyguards, held sway in the large guest suite that dominated the second floor of the whole west wing. As par typical, there was a lone guard outside his door smoking. The secant of which drifted down the stairs. The Guard was the bulkier of the six or so men, but his attentions were more on the Adult Magazine in his hands than upon the duty he was being paid for.

From his belt, Kim drew out one of the green marbles and pitched it at the guard in a lazy overhead toss. There was a slight cracking sound, and the Guard looked down at his feet…

And promptly slid off his chair, and soon was asleep.

I turned to Kim, watching for a signal to move. He bade me to wait while fishing out more of the green marbles from his belt. Soon enough, three more guards emerged from the immediate room.

One started back to give alarm just as Kim started another throw, but just peering over the top of the stairs I could see one point at the magazine his now asleep fellow had been reading and was speaking something to the first in a very low voice when more slight cracking sounds occurred around them—and soon they too went to sleep without much of a sound.

However, Kim again waited. At least half a minute passed before he allowed me to move. I didn't feel the least faint around the now open door, nor as I stepped over the dozing men and that raunchy girly magazine (which I do admit held my attention for a few moments) to enter the suite. A gas weapon which quickly dissipated in air, nice—even better than the Persuader. If any of that gas went inside the suite, it was hard to tell at best. We could hear someone snoring away from the direction of the bedrooms, and see a light on in another bedroom. Cigarette smells were coming from an ashtray on an end table, next to an easy chair where a newspaper was dumped in a heap on the floor near its feet. Otherwise, the suite looked no worse for wear considering who was using it.

At that point, Kim motioned to me for the box he handed to me earlier. We spent minutes placing the tiny things into corners, under chairs, and into the flower pots of the main sitting room and small drawing room to the east. Then we started for the main bedroom, where _he _was sleeping.

The room's fairly nice and spacious with matching mahogany furniture, but we didn't enter right away. Because Kim before the door kept looking at his large wristwatch, sometimes twisting the outer dial around several times, before frowning at the door which I found very surprising.

"What is it?" I whispered in his ear.

Kim paused for a moment…

"Is there a secret back-up system for security here?" he whispered back.

The Mansion was awash with those things, in part due to Father's service. I told Kim about it when he first arrived, and for certain Father showed him how to disarm this part of the system. In this area, the trips are set on the outside windows and not any of the inside doors. I know Father told him more about the system last night while Six was planting things.

"He's rigged the door?" I nearly exclaimed in astonishment, but still kept my voice to a whisper.

Kim frowned, pointing at his watch, "Magnetic Field variety." He whispered back. "Any disturbance with in the Field's parameters and it starts screaming, loudly. We'll need to go at this in a different way."

True. The Sun was starting to lighten the sky. And as we left, the first guard was beginning to stir. Kim pressed the side of his neck and the man went quite again, then he arranged the other three guards back in the sitting room just in time for them to start waking up. Before leaving, Kim made it appear that the first Guard had fallen over by arranging the stool and magazine accordingly on the floor.

Anything else, we had to hope for while quickly leaving down the stairs.

1 These are the events known as 'Midsummer Night—A.

22


	4. Chapter 4

Four.

It wasn't oblivious at all; Kim _would have_ told Father about what we tried to do that morning. Hopefully, Kim's devices wouldn't be as easily discovered as Six's were.

But if the opportunity did come my way, I wanted to be ready. So, before heading down to breakfast, I opened that small box and slipped three of those little things into my right skirt pocket and. My Walter handgun went into its holster at the back of my waist with its clips, all subtlety hidden by my bulky green pull-over blouse.

It's surprising how many times during the calamities at breakfast I wanted to reach for it.

You see, Pinley-Steward had brought along his own chef who was quite a snob plus control-freak who's unrepentant rudeness towards the members of our House Staff (who know us and fully know how to make what we want with the exact precision of a well made watch you can set yours to) caused Father to repeatedly visit the kitchen, sometimes with an unwilling Pinley-Steward in tow. Those conversations I would have loved listening in on, but position made it impossible. I had to contend with Pinley-Steward's 'Personal Assistant'; a sickly looking man with a ratish face and bad hair-piece who was constantly sizing me up like a piece of meat. Brave, with Mother near-by. Stupid, may be, or even suicidal.

Not even Kim, seated next to me, could dissuade his looks with innocent questions concerning his superior's business, even with a Persuader directed at him.

I toyed with the ideal of simply shooting him in justifiable cause.

At least, when breakfast was over, Mother and Father allowed Kim and I to leave before tea was served. Normally, that would have been an enjoyable time to relax and discuss matters. But they had seen how distressed I was. Hopefully they can do something about that man, at least banish him to the cottage by lunch anyway.

Plus, there was another reason as well. It wasn't Stalker, or Cambridge, but Six's very own Worms at Mr. Palmer's insistence. He had joined us late for Breakfast due to business he had at Legoland1 that morning, and did join us for some diced fruit and juice at the table. His friendly manner and wit stole some of Pinley-Steward's bluster, and left the table with Kim and I to pass along the results of that morning's business in a large envelope. Digging through a lot of past history, they'd came up with the names of all those in the copied picture as well as complete family and personal histories.

But it came with a warning from Palmer.

"Nobody in the Hierarchy knew about _this_ gathering." He seriously warned us. So do be careful with this."

Father used a lot of favors to cover this matter from the authorities in Pinley-Steward's palm, but it did give me some hope. But not before learning of the Detective who wanted to look at Pinley-Steward's phone records being demoted to traffic duty in some northern hamlet for some really vague reason.

"He's being especially nasty." Palmer warned us as he passed the large envelope to us. And in the security of Kim's room we went through the facts it contained.

They were 'Winter's Boys', or more readily, 'The Winter Boys'; so named after one Charles Winter, a Cambridge Sociology Professor who had taken them under his wing since their first day at the historic institution, as he would many others during his time there. It was his notion that one could be 'made' a success through the careful grooming of attitude and beliefs during that formable time, making them more readily able to deal with whatever changes one may encounter out in the real world.

He was apparently hoping to make a significant impact on the world of Sociology with these grand experiments upon the sharpest students who passed his way, but nothing really significant became of his work. The majority came out just as average as any other highly intelligent student at Cambridge, a few faltered along the way, and very, very few every really became what he'd hoped they would be.

The boy so vulgarly labeled in the picture was one Steward Randolph; sole son of Eric Randolph, head of one of England's more formable Banking Houses until Steward's death in a car crash broke him both mentally and physically, bringing the House to an end. Interestingly, Randolph Houses' total assets were quickly gathered up by a concern consisting of the fathers of Ian Wilkenson, John Rother, and Peter Quippen, with Pinley-Steward handling the legal affairs through his Father's Office…

If that didn't raise our eyebrows, nothing could.

But Quippen, that was a name that didn't come to mind. Pinley-Steward never mentioned him in that conversation with Father the day before. Yet, as the boys in the photograph are so named, he's standing to Pinley-Steward's immediate left on the picture; the one with _'Fool'_ written over his head. On him, the report stated that three years after Cambridge, he simply walked away from it all becoming a Priest serving the poor in South America until his death two years ago.

The reasons weren't very clear on the matter. Some say he wanted to 'escape', others stated that he 'couldn't cope' with the pressures of the Banking World, which was all very strange because according to his school file he was an incredibly flexible and level-headed individual with a solid future ahead of him. Yet, he left it all behind for the most poorest regions of the World. There was no mention of who attended his funeral, but I certainly doubt that any of his old school chums bothered going. They'd already looted his family's fortune through their clever tricks long after he left and there were no luxury resorts to later relax at, so why should they?

Kim held up the Randolph and Quippen reports, one in each hand, and methodically went over them while I looked over his shoulder.

After a while he began to murmur while reading the Randolph report, _"Death caused by driving car off of cliff ledge, while under the influence of alcohol…As so noted by the numbers of liquor bottles found at the wreck."_

Rather simplistic, it also made me start thinking…

Steward Randolph was only sixteen at the time. If the laws haven't changed, he wasn't old enough for alcohol and most definitely his Father wouldn't have allowed him a dram. Unless he got it from the other Boys', especially Pinley-Steward's Father, whom apparently got away with a lot of rule breaking back then.

_Like Father, like Son…_

"Presters' Road." Kim frowned, breaking my thoughts.

"Eh?"

"Where the accident took place." He pointed out to me on the paper. "They even gave GPS coordinates."

That was way out in the more rural areas of Eastern Wales; were farming is the main livelihood and the people do their best with what they have. There maybe a few paved roads and electricity, but hardly a change from the beginnings of the Twentieth Century. With the exception of the tourists and vacationers, who simply love the quaintness of the area to death.

There'd hardly be much of a change in the area since the accident, in 1947.

"Thinking about taking a look?" I asked, reading Kim's mind perfectly.

Father needed to be told. But the point was moot, why else would he have sent the information tous. Both he and Mother were house-bound thanks to Pinley-Steward and his guests, and weren't about to leave him alone there. Not out of concerns, but from what he'd do to the place if given the chance. But Father did state that he'd try to have someone out there to watch over us, especially Kim.

He couldn't guarantee it; giving the reason why would sure cause more harm to Kim than good. At least Kim understood the risks, and was still willing to go for our sakes.

The drive out to the western parts wasn't too eventful. Occasional glances in the rear-view mirrors told us nothing out of the ordinary, cars and Lorries cane and went paying little attention to us even as we skirted Shrewsbury and went down the old narrow roads that aren't on the regular maps. Those you needed to know about as a native, or have that freaky set up Kim has that displays everything, right down to the cattle paths, on the inside of his windscreen.

Presters' Road was once such place. More of a winding dirt trail than road, suitable for animals or vehicles with a good set of shocks, sturdy undercarriage, powerful engine, and a driver who knew what he was doing on tight turns, steep inclines, and ruts of various depth. More than once, we had to head backwards to a wide enough spot to let a native go by heading in the opposite direction with a load of something to take somewhere or simply driving their sheep elsewhere. I know Kim's Roaster can actually fly, but for now that wasn't a proper course of action…

Like believing an intoxicated young man could navigate such a winding road for another three miles before miss-navigating one tight turn, even if it was night time, plunging to his death in the ravine below. Granted, there are some unbelievable things that I do believe in (one of these just so happens to be named Kimball Wildman). But that, well, even Kim had difficulty believing in.

He had to have had help.

Kim wanted to look at the area, to be definitely positive. Actually, there was no way to turn the Roadster around and it was close to lunch anyway. Bern was the closest village to where we were. The road lead right to it after several more tight turns along the mountainous region that is the Welsh border. Along the way, we passed that one turn. The lead up to it was steep, nearly vertical. Even as Kim took it slowly, upon reaching the top we nearly drove off ourselves into a rock filled ravine through which a narrow stream made its way through. About sixty feet, I reckoned, quite easy for anyone to find themselves in if they're not careful. Especially true with the sun in their eyes.

Kim renavigated the turn, and soon the road began to turn downward in a very eccentric way to Bern.

Predictably, we stepped back in time. A good number of rural communities all over the Isles haven't changed too much since their founding, pre-dating modern times by at least one to two hundred years or more. Granted, there's electricity to run the television set in the small pub, along with the ice maker, and the radio in the Constable's Office, plus the few telephones connected to lines a half-century old, along with the occasional lorry that's either twice or three times my age held together with a combination of local mechanical skill and plenty of prayer. Houses consisted of stone and wood with constantly smoking chimneys haven't changed since their construction a hundred years or so ago, and farmers using draft animals in lew of motorized tractors to break the ground and water pumped from hand wells along with privy shacks out in back—but not too far way. At least strangers weren't uncommon, as in tourists stopping by. There were a few newer model cars parked out in front of the Pub we stopped at, but scarred faced strangers with long shaggy salt-and-pepper hair driving fancy roadsters in the company of pretty dark skinned women with boyish-cut bone white-hair do tend to attract plenty of attention.

We dealt with it well, and were able to turn the conversation to the subject of the accident…

"Presters' Road...Oh dat." Remembered the heavy-set Barman recalled, setting out our tea. "Was a young boy, back then."

There wasn't much about the accident he could have told us, but the one benefit of such occurrences happening near such tiny communities is that there are lots of curious people on the receiving end of any news that occurs…

"The Constable here back then was not so sure 'at it was an accident." The Barman recalled. "Couldn't figure 'ow a drunken lad like that 'ould of driven as far as 'e did along 'at road. But the Judge toe'd em' to stop tiein' things up."

"He was ordered to stop investigating?" Kim asked.

"Ya." The Barman nodded his head. "Lot of fancy people, they kept botherin' the Constable to stop. But the Judge said he'd bett'ar find somthin' or quit. It bothered em' to is' dyin' day. Wood go up dare' win 'e could, constantly lookin' fer somthin."

But finding nothing. Still, it would be interesting to look over the Constable's notes on the accident. For that, the Barman directed us to the Constable's home, which also doubled as his office next to the Jail. We were also in luck, the current Constable was the son of the Constable from that time--and happened to be home when we called.

That house was a little more newer than its contemporaries and lit with electric lights from a generator out back, and had numerous family photos on the walls and fireplace mantle. The Constable who greeted us was a tall, lean man with bushy hair and moustache who spoke better than the natives and looked quite neat in his uniform. And shortly, we were down to business at his kitchen table with boxes of fifty year old files reviewing the accident…

Until my cell phone went off. Damnedable thing, sometimes it's more of an irritation than convenience. I excused myself to the other room so not to be a bother by answering the thing…

"Lady Angelica Drummond." A smooth voice began, "Please do not be alarmed, and do not move from the spot you are currently at—"

Men suddenly came into the room. Three of them, hard faced in business suits, coming at me in a determined rush…

Only I didn't stand still. Flipping the cell phone into the face of the first one, I side stepped while reaching for my Walter while screaming at the top of my lungs for the sake of drawing attention from the outside. The first man stopped, clutching both his face and my phone with a strangled cry. The one behind him, being too close in the first place, ran into him and they both fell over. But the third man managed to step around them to take a lunge at me. I weaved back, tripping him along the way and slipped past him as the first two untangled themselves. Firing off the Walter would be better, but the gents weren't about to allow me the time and chance to get it fully free of my blouse while making me dance around the room dodging their grasps and kicking their legs out from under them—or aiming higher when the opportunity presented itself.

Being in pants made it easier to fight, but these were commando trained and bent on capturing me without any weapons they weren't born with…

Then one grabbed a chair and drove it into my legs. I had the Walter out of its holster, but falling to the floor put me in bad position to use it.

During this, there were other sounds coming from the kitchen, of breaking things and things being slammed along with shouts of pain. And one shout I especially remembered; _"Use the ruddy Tazer on him!!"_

He was a better trained fighter than I, though I can hold my own. I just worried that whoever they were didn't succeed…

Then Kim's old Edrailian Military pistol roared in the other room, mingling with the sound of a shotgun discharging in the room I was in--making plaster and splinters rain down from the ceiling on the four of us. That came from the double-barrel the Barman held as he stood at the entrance of the room with another local armed with an old bolt-action rifle.

"Leave er' alone, you sorry lot!!" The Barman demanded.

Two of my attackers froze, but at third started speaking…

I was able to roll a little on the floor, and aimed Walter right at his head with every ounce of murderous intent I could muster.

He stopped.

Then Kim stepped out of the kitchen with rucksack in one hand and one of his large pistols ready in the other.

There were darts sticking out of his jacket.

1 A. Note; _Legoland _is one of the names given to the building that houses the British Secret Service, (SIS), due to its outward appearance.

9


	5. Chapter 5

Five.

It was a Snatch-Team, or what those in the profession ruefully refer to as '_Garbage Collectors_', organized by some desk-sitter in Six to capture Kim.

Of course, tranquilizer darts and Tazers they used did no good to the armored clothing Kim always wore. When the real Constable, a barrel-chested man with the same ruddy completion as everyone else in the village, arrived several hours later from being called away on a wild goose chase, he was quite literally fit to be tied after hearing the full story.

He didn't take too kindly to his home being remodeled by shotgun, or being used in the way that it was and having his Father's records rifled through. But he pretty much relented that a hole in the ceiling and a busted up kitchen was much easier to deal with than gore on the floor.

But as for the Agents, no matter how much they showed their identifications and howled at the Constable for 'Interfering in Government matters', he wasn't about to let them go—at least not yet anyway. Not until transportation to the closest Judge could be arranged, which would be in about a day or so.

Calling Father from the Pub's phone, since my cellphone had been trampled on in the fight, I alerted him to what happened. He was greatly relieved, and demanded us back at the Manor immediately. The tone of his voice wasn't pleasant, but it was easy enough to read the worry within it.

Thankfully, the Constable was understandable and willing to look the other way with regards to illegal weapons possession in light of those who tried impersonating him to perform a Kidnapping, and allowed us to leave with the right records. Apparently, one member of the snatch-team had those hidden away in the rucksack Kim had.

But he did have one request; "The accident 'ad me Father bothered till his dyin' day." He told us. "I'd like it settled, for his sake."

It was understandable.

Kim took no chances on the way back, once we were out of Bern, or at least out of sight, he activated the Force-Action system and we flew the rest of the way over the mountains and hills to just where that goat path started. The rest of the way was more conventional, though by the time we arrived at the Manor my right shoulder was hurting where I had fallen on it in the Constable's home. But the luxury of having it looked at would haft to wait. While pulling up the drive, we noticed several official looking cars parked out front with several men loitering around them that were no different than those we fought off in Bern.

Instead of flying, Kim opted for driving around back to the Servant's entrance, racing past several of those men who tried stopping after us by jumping on as we raced past., and entering the Manor proper before they could catch up…

An act that didn't go unnoticed, especially by my Mother who greeted us at the door.

"Hurry round to your Father, he's in his office." She told me, and added to Kim, "There's a _very_ important person there who'd love to talk with you."

I didn't like the way she said _very_, but on we went—right into a conversation between Father and one Admiral Elliot Richards, current Head of Six, wearing his white Naval Dress Uniform no less.

"My Lord, with all due respect, you are harboring a fugitive." He was saying to father as we entered. "While you may have your own reasons for doing so, clearly you are in violation of Her Majesties Laws—"

But Father stood impassive as he spoke…

"Is Doctor Wildman guilty of murder, treason, robbery, or felonious assault?" Father asked.

"You should know _that_ by now, John." Richards sputtered back.

"You said he was a _Fugitive_." Father directly pointed out to him. "So, what crime did he commit?"

Clearly Richards wasn't prepared for this.

"You still have your clearance with SIS, if you want to take the matter up with them." He replied, irritatedly.

"I'm more inclined to believe they'll dodge the matter in hope that I'll become too frustrated in continuing with it." Father countered. "I'm not about to do that, Elliot—you know me too well."

Richards started taking in a deep lungful of air, it didn't really make him look any bigger than he actually was, which was quite big, but not fat as most would think. But he was most likely about to launch into a lengthy vernacular concerning where one's loyalties should lie in such matters when Father noticed us standing in the open doorway.

"Ah," Father suddenly smiled, catching Richards off guard, "close the door please."

I didn't think I was in any trouble; Father knew where and what Kim and I were doing and had allowed us to go. But it was Father's manner that had me on edge; he'd act no differently just before giving any of his children a good strong dose of discipline.

Kim closed the door.

When he turned around, Father made the formal introductions between Richards, myself, and Kim. The Admiral did his best to keep from becoming any more surprised than he was.

"He's stated clearly to me that I should hand you over to the authorities because you are a '_fugitive_'." Father continued in his open manner. "Yet, he won't tell me what crimes you had committed."

Richards kept himself in check, very admirable.

Kim just frowned.

"Probably the crime of being too gifted for one's own good." He quietly commented.

Richards bristled slightly.

Kim's reply to that was a hard stare.

Father turned to the Admiral, quietly saying, "To my knowledge, though I maybe wrong and need to consult my second oldest son to be certain, that is not a crime."

Richards clenched his jaw, his eyes darting between Kim and myself. Oh, he dearly wanted to say something. Exactly what, I could only guess at. But if it dealt with Warlock, then I clearly wasn't high enough on the mountain to know…

So he set himself, gazing directly at Kim, and asked, "If I asked you to accompany me from here, would you comply with the request?"

"No." Kim quickly, defiantly, answered.

Richards took the rebuff well. He just stood there, considering his next move as Kim just stood in silence.

"You can't run forever, Doctor." Richards addressed him in gentler tones. "You're valuable, too valuable--."

"A value that can be negated easily, especially if what I know of Warlock's is ever made public." Kim frowned.

Surprise quickly formed on Richards' face when he realized what Kim had said. He glanced at me then back to Kim, who was looking more relaxed now.

And Richards' face became red. "That is a clear violation of the agreements you signed!" he exploded angrily.

"I don't recall signing my life away for the sake of the 'Free World' using my abilities to destroy Mankind." Kim coolly snapped back. "None of those documents contained the word _'Enslavement'_. And I did submit my registration to the officials there when I wanted to leave, only to have it thrown back in my face with a considerable arm twisting and threats to make me stay. So therefore, I don't believe any laws were violated by my leaving!"

Richards now looked really close to pitching a real fit. Oh there were things he wanted to say, but being around those without the proper clearance (namely me); he was forced to put his words together carefully.

"You agreed to the terms and conditions as so laid down in the documents, and are therefore still bound by them!" The Admiral triumphantly proclaimed. "Therefore, when you abandoned those agreed upon duties, you became a _criminal! _ You are also a walking risk to the Free World, _Doctor_, should you ever fall into the hands of any criminal or terrorist organization. So therefore, for the safety of the entire Free World, I insist that accompany me from here _at once!_"

In truth, Richards was very correct in his assertions and stood proudly before the defiant Kim, triumph clearly evident upon his broad face.

But Kim replied in a very cold manner; "You, like others, claim that incarcerating me is for the benefit of the entire Free World because of the special research being conducted at Warlock. Unfortunately, you have made a horrendous error with that very reasoning."

"I think not." Richards haughtily replied.

Kim just shook his head. "You believe the horrors I helped create will remain safe from the World if I'm 'put away', when I already have informed you that I've already revealed them to people. People that I doubt would simply sit still after I 'vanish'."

"We'll deal with them, all of them." Richards sneered back. "They're _cranks_, simply that."

Father and I exchanged looks. And as far as I was concerned, Richards had crossed that line separating true gentlemen from fiends and was quite ready to say so when Kim uncorked a live one…

"Even Generals Joseph Colton and Clayton Abernathy, the current leaders of the G.I. Joe team?" he quietly asked

Direct hit and Richards wavered with a surprised look on his face.

Even Father was impressed.

"I strongly doubt you can slander them, or those they talk to about me." Kim continued. "There's a lot of politicians who'd hate for something like Warlock popping up on their watch, while there are those politicians who'd love the illegalness of Warlock becoming so suddenly exposed for their benefit, with all of it's supporters on a silver platter. They'd be scoring points for decades."

Kim's scarred face became a dark mask of anger as he glared at Richards, while Richards' face became redder and reader as he clenched his hands tightly.

Oh, he wanted to scream, and scream badly.

_Stalemate_…What could Admiral Richards do?

He could call Kim's bluff, but the results would be devastating. I knew Kim wasn't bluffing about the things he worked on there, which could easily make any biblical holocaust extremely trivial by comparison.

"We'll soon see about this, Doctor!" he seethed, then turned bitterly to Father saying only "...John..." before angrily snatching up his white peaked naval hat from Father's desk and stormed out of the room.

Father looked tired after that.

"It wasn't the wisest move, but it was done none-the-less." He said sitting down behind his desk. "Now both of you sit, I need to speak with you."

Kim seated himself in the same way I did; dreading the moment that was about to come. Even Father was hesitant to speak at first.

But when he did, his voice was low and solemn.

"There's been a leak at Six, amongst those I trust. Even I find it incredible, but apparently Pinley-Steward's reach goes father than anyone could have imagined—myself included."

That was a harsh blow, but not really unexpected. Kim figured that was how all those listening devices were discovered, and the special alarm on the bedroom door…

The magnitude was simply staggering. _How far did his reach go?_, I wondered.

"He knows about _you_." Father addressed Kim. "And no doubt, is pulling every string he can to make you a _'Guest'_ of this country for a very long time."

"Something that been repeatedly displayed to me already." Kim quietly responded.

But Father didn't look very happy at that, not at all. "Doctor, that is fine and well, but at this juncture you are in danger…"

"So is he." Kim responded, placing the rucksack on Father's desk.

Not being in such a good mood at the moment, Father didn't really see the reason or humor in the action. That is until Kim explained things to him.

"Steward Randolph's 'accident' was arranged. There is no conceivable way it could have occurred naturally. The Constable of Bern at the time knew it, but was stopped by a Judge's decree most likely engineered by Pinley-Steward himself.

"I was betting that the Constable kept excellent records of the whole matter, That's why we went out to see them. Apparently they were excellent enough to warrant the Snatch-Team to take them along with me."

Father eyed the rucksack …

"Pinley-Steward and his friends made a considerable amount of money in Randolph's death and Quippen's departure." Kim firmly continued. "There are also many 'embarrassing' matters that other countries are looking into that do involve Pinley-Steward, so I am not at all surprised by everything that has just happened."

Father looked at him, considering…

"He's made a serious blunder, and is in blind panic." Kim concluded. "He most likely figured on dealing with people _he_ knows…I'm an unknown, and I won't allow him to intimidate me into halting this investigation."

Father still regarded him with that looked for a good while…

Then slowly turned at me…

"What do you think?" He asked.

I wasn't exactly comfortable at that point, but I wasn't going flinch either.

"I don't see any other reason as to why as snatch-team would take fifty year old records along with Kim." I answered evenly. "Unless they were being ordered to hide something."

Father kept staring at me for a few minutes more. Then with a smile, reached for the rucksack.

"Let's see what that something is." He said, opening it.

Kim was right; the Constable did keep very detailed notes, even made drawings of how the road twisted through the mountains and hills with points made in several places where Randolph would have crashed, if he was drunk as it was so claimed.

He too wondered how Randolph came to be there. Several notes sighted the fact that if he was an honors student at Cambridge, partaking of liquor at some party near the campus, how he managed to drive as far as he did without being either caught by Police Patrol the Motorways or crashing…

Even to him, it made no sense.

But what did, for us, were all the special correspondence The Constable had saved during the investigation. Letters written out on the official stationary of the Law Offices of John Pinley-Steward and Son, threatening legal action if the Investigation wasn't brought to a close. Apparently, the Constable's continued investigation was threatening the absorption of the Randolph Banking House assess by the Wilkenson Group. There were recorded occurrences where the young Walter Pinley-Steward visited Bern, personally trying to halt the investigation by several means necessary before finally getting a Judges' order to either present evidence that would sustain the investigation or halting it.

Oh it made perfect sense…

Even Father had to agree, in part.

"Too many coincidences, but not enough solid proof ." he mentioned, looking at the documents. "Still, it would be plenty embarrassing if such facts ever got out in the open."

"Adding to what the EU can find on him." Kim added. "It maybe enough to turn a conviction on circumstantial evidence."

"No it won't…It won't." Father chuckled sadly. "It's a nice thought and all, but we're dealing with a man who knows the legal system. He'll be badly embarrassed, but not hung."

And he paused…

"But those devices you planted in the Guest House yielded some interesting tidbits concerning stock padding." Father said. "Not legal for us to directly use, considering how the information was gathered, but informant's are easy enough to obtain."

"What about the rooms?" Kim wondered.

"Not a thing, unless you count the raunchy tales his Bodyguards enjoy telling so much." Father frowned. "Apparently, he prefers doing business in the Bedroom."

"Where we can't listen in." I moodily added.

"Anyway, this has been an eventful day." He said considering, looking down at the papers. "A fresh perspective in the morning would benefit us greatly."

In deed it would. Both my shoulder and ankle were hurting, and with Dinner done and past Kim and I took the leftovers in his room.

And there was an angry General Colton waiting on the Telecom.

"_Just what in blazes are you doing over there, Wildman! You are suppost to be keeping yourself out of the public eye, now I come back to the Rock and find a whole slew of requests to hand you over to the authorities—at once, I may add."_

Kim took it well; first he properly apologized for what ever inconveniences the General may have suffered through, then began explaining that what was actually going on over here was in no means unavoidable.

"Pinley-Steward is trying to use Lord Drummond to shield himself from whatever, and is going to elaborate lengths to maintain that." Kim said, and went into detail over everything that happened since the beginning of the affair.

But Colton's expression didn't change too much in the meanwhile.

"_Walter Pinley-Steward is a very bad piece of news, but by no means should you have gotten involved in the manner that you have allowed yourself to be. I want you out of that Country and back at Ayers' ASAP, no arguments!"_

Kim just stood..,

"Sir," I entered, "may I say something?"

Colton turned to me on the monitor, and it surprised me to see how tired he was.

"_Yes, Lieutenant..."_

Actually, it would be Second Lieutenant. But reminding him would have put him in a worse mood.

"Sir, Walter Pinley-Steward has been a bane for my Family for years—as well as the World, from what we've found out so far. We are close to ending this matter, but still need Kim's help…"

"_While I understand your position in this predicament, Lieutenant, I still must insist that Wildman return to America at once."_ Colton responded. _"I'm sorry, but even you understand how vital this matter is."_

"Yes, I do." I replied, with growing anger. Then in a burst of temper added, "I even told my parents."

It didn't rightly register with the General at first. But before too much past, Kim and I could see the realization form on his bearded face.

Then it changed to shock. _"You!"_

Anything that followed was lost when I leaned over and shut the Telecom off.

We ate in silence. I'm not sure what Kim was thinking, any attempt at getting at it was met with the fewest words that really didn't tell me much.

But towards the end, I pretty much realized what he was thinking about.

"It's Colton…Isn't it."

Kim looked at me with a long face, "We took a chance that didn't work. Instead of producing solutions, it created problems. And now we'll haft to answer for it."

Well, he was right; that shot to get the U.S. State Department moving was most likely the cause of all this mess…

My shot it was, since I had started the ball rolling. That's why Mother always says, _'That's why you fly a Harrier."_, and I'm not very good at calling bluffs or seeing traps like Father and my Brothers are. I could cite the lack of 'proper education', (Nobility is notorious for separating the sexes in this regard), but in the end I knew it would all boil down to a lack of common sense—namely mine.

"I'm…sorry…"

He leaned over, gently resting a hand on my shoulder.

"I don't blame you." He gently smiled. "If I felt that it would have been a bad ideal at the time, I would have stepped in and stopped it."

As Kim moved back, he sadly shrugged, "So don't blame yourself."

Nice, thoughtful, but really not enough to lift the gloom that had settled over us.

But he did try to lift it, if not a little, before we said our goodnights'…

It was a ring. A simple little thing; a gold band with a small clear diamond in a little black case—very much like what a young man would gift a young woman he was madly in love with, right down to the nervous presentation.

It was actually quite funny.

"Wear it, will you?" Kim didn't haft to ask, I wore it at once.

I did so because something inside told me that he was up to something, I know him that well.

He also gave me a sweet good night kiss…

12


	6. Chapter 6

Six.

By early morning, Kim was gone.

They told me he left in the late evening. His room was cleared and the Roadster gone.

Even the Lynx we flew over in.

I sulked about in my room acting every bit like the heart broken young girl, partially because I was heart-broken over his leaving. And simply I had not a clue as to what Kim was doing. But I kept the ring on and the listening devices in my pocket just in case…

Pinley-Steward was ever loud and boastful, laughing and joking seemingly at my expense at Breakfast. And that creepy manager of his kept staring at me as he did, which made me leave well before the end. Mother later told me that Father royally dressed him and Pinley-Steward both down in front of the entire Household Staff for effect for it in his private study for what happened. Even threatened to throw Pinley-Steward's entire entourage right off the grounds for upsetting me.

"Of course those rotters' gave an apology, a feeble one of course." Mother told me. "But they weren't really sorry at all."

No, I gathered that already. He was enjoying my misery.

With Kim gone, there was no need for most of Six's security people to remain on grounds. Some would be staying just to guard Pinley-Steward, but those who did either took it irritatedly or simply in stride. But before those that left did, Mr. Palmer came up to see me.

"Sorry about it all coming to an end like it did." He honestly said to me, "Really though we had em' there for a while."

He was as miserable as I was acting, genuinely so.

"But he can't dodge forever you know." He added with a hopeful smile, "He'll hang for what he's done, one way or the other."

I just nodded quietly as he bid me good-bye.

Staying in the room alone for most of the day, I spent sulking by the window while bothered by Palmer's last words to me. Of course, I would see Kim again as I was still attached to the Joe Team…

But after that last conversation with General Colton, that attachment would most likely be severed by now. Shutting off the Telecom like I did really put me in arrears with him, once more my temper gets the better of me.

Still though, I knew that if I couldn't see him, he'd come and see me…

I kept that in mind while gently playing with the ring he gave me last night, which I wore on the second finger of my left hand.

And that's when someone knocked on my door. Calling didn't do any good, either they couldn't hear me or understand me. So I went to the door, opening it without thinking at all and received a blast of knockout gas right to the face…

Adding insult to injury, I breathed in a goodly dose in surprise and don't even recall hitting the floor. Even more so was the god-awful smell that dragged me out of that drugged bliss…

To see Walter Pinley-Steward himself standing before me, leering.

"Did we enjoy our little nap?" he mocked, enjoying every minute.

I was standing upright, but not with my own legs. We were standing at the end of some decrepit corridor, lit by the harsh yellowish light of some lonely light-bulb. The floor was old mahogany planking, and at my dangling feet were spent capsules of smelling salts—but that's not where the currently powerful odor was coming from. That came from the open trap door on my left…We were in the family bomb-shelter, I realized, sitting unused under the Manor since the last great war…

I was dangling from the ceiling by a cloth rope near the garbage pit, with my hands tied behind my back and feet bound together.

"You're dead." I growled at him.

"In a few more years no doubt." He flippantly threw out. "But today's the day you get to shuffle off this mortal coil."

He looked gleefully insane, like he simply went mad.

But then it occurred to me; why not commit murder?

"You wouldn't." I growled again

And he laughed mockingly, "Oh I can, and have, and shall. It doesn't bother me in the least bit, because there were plenty benefits for me to reap in those demises. But your death, you retched little whore, will be especially satisfying."

He was, oh he bloody well was…

I tried fighting the bindings. Why seems so stupid when I recall it all, but I thought that if I could break free I'd break Pinley-Steward's fat face.

But naturally, I was too well tied up—and gave up.

"Well, it's very nice and all that you have come to realize your current predicament."Pinley-Steward casually went on. "In that manner, apparently you have inherited some intelligence from your Father—however wasted it was."

"So it was all just a lie to do this!" I glared and spat back at him. Two of his bodyguards materialized on either side of him, quite intent on making me regret what I just did…

But he blocked them.

"No!" he barked, "I don't want her harmed anymore than what I'm going to do to her!"

They backed down, glaring at me.

"And to you," he sneered at me, "though why I'm telling you this isn't exactly reasonable, but, yes, _I am being stalked. _Hunted by someone even I cannot find out. Coming here for protection was a stroke of genius on my part, using my driver's demise helped the alibi along, creating an a excellent opportunity to make your Father pay for causing a good many people much grief by marrying far below his place. "

_Money_, oh how elegant. But it's not unusual; business dealings and arranged marriages always go hand in hand. It was how things were done among the Nobles.

And those that lost the most would be very bitter towards those whom they could not control.

"Get the device." He ordered the one on his right, and he faded from sight.

Then he started waxing solemnly to me, "Aw, the pity…So young, yet fragile—too fragile to stand the pain of a broken heart when her lover left her."

His smile became an evil leer as he continued, "So, she crawled down here after leaving the suicide note, raised the lid to the privy, and duly shot herself dead. Her body falling into the shite down there…Quite proper for one of your kind."

"It would be very proper for you to hang for the murder of Steward Randolph!" I spat back. "As well as all your other crimes!"

"We've been busy, haven't we?" He cooed impressedly back. "You've definitely inherited your Father's talent for investigation."

The Bodyguard appeared at his side, with my Walter mounted onto a simple sort of contraption consisting of a two-foot board with a grip at either end. But from the rear one ran two rods to the trigger of the pistol—held in place by a quick release clamp. Rather cheap, but dangerous just the same.

Pinley-Steward held the thing quite comfortably in his chubby hands.

I glared defiantly back at him.

"Ever a fighter, how odd." He remarked. "Surely, you don't want to plead for your life—just a little?"

He wasn't insane. No, he was a monster. He wasn't the kind to put on a show like this, then back down calling it a joke…

And I wasn't about to whimper and cry.

"Did Steward Randolph?" I grated back.

"No, actually he was more defiant as you are, attacking us with his fists and all--until Ian split his head open with the Cricket Bat. And yes, that was a sloppy affair with his car and such. But, we were able to influence the decision in our favor and it all turned out for the better."

"A pity you weren't stopped back then." I grated back, trying to think of ways of keeping the conversation going. I was in a real fix here, Kim was somewhere I hope close by and the devices would lead him to me…

I just hoped I would still be alive.

He then looked at me for the longest time, savoring the sight of me dangling there…

"It was all for money, just money." I glared back.

"You'd never understand the arrangements, and there's little time to explain it all." He spoke as casually as he was gripping the Device. "There's a necessity for those of the Noble Class to rule, for they alone can bring this Nation back to the prosperity it once commanded. Not those worthless politicians who carry themselves around like Lords they can never be, elected by the common masses who barely have brains to begin with.

"To this end, the ties between the Noble families must be regularly strengthened to insure stability and longevity. But when your Father married that dockyard trollop, it devastated one entire branch of Nobles who been counting on him to _properly_ marry so they could avoid bankruptcy. A goodly number of business agreements were scrapped because of it, some involved were unable to recover from their loss. Instead, they were forced to sell off their lands to remain solvent, and reduced to giving tours of their estates to foreign tourists and sell little trinkets of the visits to them for the income. Horrific to say the least.

"But I must say, "He added in afterward, "that being mocked by you really has pushed me over the edge…So, here I am taking the opportunity to not only repay your Father for all of the harm he has done but to put you in your place as well was…_perfectly irresistible._"

I was going to say something, but forgot what was because I was surprised by his physical speed. My pistol was against the side of my head before I could even react, and Pinley-Steward was quickly pulling back in the lever which would fire the gun with a mad look of glee on his face…

_Click!_

Pinley-Steward standing there with the most utterly dumbfounded look of amazement on his face, one I intended to remember until I eventually died…

In fact, I felt like laughing right in his fat face, more from that than from the gun deciding to misfire when it did.

_But it wasn't a misfire…_ Seeing the look of absolute shock on his face when the slide locked in place after he pulled it back to clear the dud round did make me laugh, and loudly.

The gun was empty.

That really set him off, for he turned to scream and berate the face of the hapless bodyguard that fetched him the Device…

Only to find Kim standing there instead.

Pinley-Steward had no time to make surprised gasp of breath or startled gurgle from him, nor did his remaining Bodyguard move quickly enough. Kim swiftly knocked the device from Pinley-Steward's hands while kicking his legs out from beneath the Barrister, before shoving him into his Bodyguard flattening them both against the wall where they landed soundly in a heap on the ground.

Then he stepped back, drawing both his old military pistols out to cover the criminals on the floor.

Then he glanced at me dangling there.

"Hanging around?" Kim asked me with an amused smile.

"Just waiting for you." I smiled back, as the sounds of running feet were starting to be herd outside.

Walter Pinley-Steward did try to worm out of this one. Oh he blubbered on and on about how it was Kim who was going to kill me, and that he and his personal bodyguards at great risk set out to save me.

But between Kim's recorder, the Device, both Father and Palmer catching the rat-faced Business Manager placing the suicide note on my bed and Palmer again, it was definitely the end.

Yes, Palmer—that's where it becomes strange, and tragic too.

But going back a few hours, this is what happened; Kim only wanted to make it look like he was leaving. Guessing that both his Bedroom and Father's Office had been bugged, he managed to leave Father a note that quickly managed to let him in on what he was doing…

He was going to get Pinley-Steward to fall for a trap. Not just any trap, but a very big trap which had could not escape from; the monetary transactions and various shady deals Stalker had told us about. Pinley-Steward had more than adequate security in his room to warrant just his personal safety, Kim figured he had proof of those dealings with him— simply reasoning that there was no way Pinley-Steward was going to let such damnedable evidence lie around even if he _was _being stalked.

All Kim had to do was turn the Persuader on him to get those illicit records.

But in the course of breaking into his room, by following him in under the protection of His Persuader, he found out a lot more than that.

First, was that Palmer reminded Pinley-Steward of someone from his Cambridge days, someone he should have remembered right off, but with everything he's done over the years he couldn't right remember. So, he dispatched one of his bodyguards to contact Admiral Richards for information on Palmer earlier in the day. Not legal at all. Such information is barred from public access on the threat of violating national security. On that alone should land Pinley-Steward a good fifteen years in Prison.

But what the Bodyguard brought back with him, from Kim's remarks, 'Surprised him to no end', before he casually remarked, _"So that's where he's been all this time."_

Then there was me…

Apparently my repeated pleasure at his dismay really irritated him so much that he wanted me dead, and he was going to do it himself with that very Device. It was something he had personally built a good forty years ago, according to the rat-faced Business Manager, who just simply couldn't stop talking, (loyal indeed), to make it look like some of his rivals had killed themselves when other means of removal weren't possible. In my case, he knew my 'suicide' would have a serious effect upon my parents—especially Father. I was his darling little angel, you see, whom he always protected the most. And Pinley-Steward figured the emotional impact of my 'suicide' would drive my whole family to ruin, just like it did Eric Randolph fifty years ago. It wouldn't surprise me at all if there were 'arrangements' made to loot the Family's assets and Estate afterward.

Oh what a fitting stroke of revenge indeed.

The Police will definitely have their work cut out for them; forty years of what were considered suicides would now haft to be reinvestigated to see if they actually were murders.

And they certainly got off to a really good start by raiding Pinley-Stewards' Law Firm, residence, and every safe deposit box he had. The EU followed suit, and weren't taking 'no' from his employees.

Now for Palmer.

Pinley-Steward _did_ have reason to remember him, a very good reason at that…

He was Steward Randolph's lover.

He openly declared this in the presence of Father, Mother, myself, Kim, and four operatives from Six, there to keep watch over the handcuffed Pinley-Steward. And all were astonished by the revelation, since those of us who knew him ever realized it. We figured he was a perpetual batcher, nothing more. But as he helped Kim in getting me down off the hook, while that pig went on loudly about how _he_ was rescuing me to Father, Palmer turned upon Pinley-Steward and in the coldest voice I've ever herd said; "I wish Randy were here to see this."

We never made the connection.

But Pinley-Steward did, right there and then.

He just looked back with horror spreading across his fat face.

But it went like this; Ian Wilkenson's Father had gotten into a really bad deal that left him in danger of being financially ruined, and the son turned to Pinley-Steward for help, since his Father had numerous resources to tap.

Unfortunately, tapping those resources was next to impossible since Government regulators would become very interested if any sizable amount of money were moved at any one time. Especially to financial institutions that had been making questionable investments with their clients funds.

But Pinley-Steward had another plan.

He had known about Randolph's romantic life with another male student in full detail; that being one Roy Palmer, an up and coming Mathematics wiz, but not quite up to snuff to rate attention from Professor Winter. With help from the other 'Boys', Pinley-Steward made a carefully laid trap for Randolph which snared him quite successfully.

The initial plan was to blackmail Randolph to save Wilkenson, consisting of just enough money per week so to not alarm the Regulators but to keep Wilkenson House seemingly solvent so to mislead its shareholders that it was having problems. Randolph though wasn't about to be leashed and was more than willing to fight, and really put up one when Wilkenson killed him. Weither it was accidental or intentional, we'll never know, but getting rid of the body so that it looked anything not like a murder was again a Pinley-Steward plan; he picked the mountain pass where the local Constable wasn't as astute as the Cambridge Police (which he was wrong, but still able to cover himself), donated the liquor later found in the wreck and rigged Randolph's roadster with the rest of the Boys to race right off the edge.

Now in Palmer's case, he had a problem; he couldn't go to the authorities because he would haft to reveal himself as being homosexual and thus be punished as they did back then, which would have lead him to be denied practically all forms of employment especially the one that he found so desiring—working for Her Majesty's Secret Service. They had been recruiting him on the virtue of his scholastic and social abilities, but having his sexual life revealed in such an open manner would have closed that door forever on the reason that he was a security risk. Which sadly has been proven true in other cases numerous times.1 And The Winter Boys' juggernaut was simply too powerful and too well connected for him to bring down on his own back then.

And had to live with that shame for the next twenty years. Until fate handed him his chance in a very surprising way.

As a Field Man for Six, one of Palmer's duties in was recruiting agents; namely the winning over of both ordinary and special people to perform intelligence work in their native lands where no foreigner (especially one raised and educated in England) could do without attacking unwanted attention—which he was extremely good at. This was also extended to expatriates who were always looking for money.

Twenty years ago, Revolutionaries, fed with money and arms from drug traffickers and Cuba, were starting to make South America into a very hot place for all the wrong reasons. Palmer had been sent by Six to hunt up local talent for an intelligence network that would keep an eye on the local troublemakers. During the course of his mission, Palmer decided to try recruiting the local Priest who was British and had been living in the area for the past fifteen years.

I could imagine his surprise when it turned out to be Peter Quippen.

For fifteen years, Pinley-Steward's former close associate lived amid the jungle squalor with a mixture of fear and resolve at _that_ incident returning. For he too was trapped by what he did that night. Even if he turned Queen's Evidence he'd hang right along side the others for the crime of murder, so he fled the luxury life for the struggling one of a Missionary among the poorest of South America.

And now there he was, on his knees before Palmer confessing all.

Others would have probably put a bullet into Quippen after getting what they wanted, and Palmer did demand a confession on both paper and recorded tape. But he didn't kill out of revenge, and wouldn't. Quippen had abandoned all for the sake of Penitence, and Palmer let him be.

But Palmer was stuck by the irony; Quippen's confession gave him the means to bring them all down. However, that meant exposing himself as being Homosexual, (though he had been alone since Stewards' death), and Quippen's part as well in the matter. So he had to contend himself with waiting; waiting for attitudes to change, waiting for those he hunted to become complacent, and most of all planning out the best ways of gaining perfect revenge against them. Undoubtedly, any legal maneuvering would be fought by Pinley-Steward. So it had to be done the cold calculated way…

By murder, if you could call it that considering what they were.

So from the start of this year, he carried out his plan of revenge.

Wilkenson and Werrow were the easiest, though in Wilkenson's case he had to lure the drunken banker out of his cabin to the railing, where after punching him in the stomach he threw his lover's murderer into the water. Nobody on board the yacht herd the splash because the party was just too noisy, and he was away for anyone was the wiser. Werrow went to his demise roughly the same way, but Palmer broke his neck at the top of those stairs before throwing the body down them.

Rother was a little more difficult, needing a month's worth of work to finally discover ( with Six's help) that he was going to take his newest sports car on vacation with him in the Alps. Palmer had to time the accident right with a small explosive taped to the right-rear wheel of the car so when Rother, a notorious speed freak, was heading into a right turn he'd set the bomb off. Incidentally, Palmer was driving the small car that Rother was passing when he had the accident.

But for sheer spectatularness, the orchestrated end of Misters Rowe and Barker was in step with any stunt from any James Bond movie. What helped was the fact that the plane's door could be opened and closed automatically, add a simple timer to the door controls and carefully pack an air bottle and parachute for the leap from the plane one hour before its arrival in Bermuda. Of course, by then, Rowe and Barker were already dead from suffocation. But their personal pilot, a mercenary wanted for various crimes in Africa, was dead a lot longer.

Palmer kept Quippen's confessions safe while carrying out his painstaking revenge against The Winter Boys. All of which would be released in detail once the deeds were done, as so he told us all. But Kim had a thing or two to say on why Pinley-Steward ran to my Father for protection.

Better him than me… I would have broken down crying.

"When Pinley-Steward managed to have him self protected on the Drummond Estate, you must have been caught off-guard by the unexpected move." Kim stated. "For any attempt here would have been exploited by Pinley-Steward's associates to reflect badly upon Lord Drummond and his Family.

"But when you herd of the investigation Lady Angelica and I were conducting under her Father's supervision, you found a better opportunity for revenge."

At that, Palmer smiled back. "It was perfect, and what you two were able to gleam from his business transactions should open plenty of doors to the European Union's investigators. But I do apologize for what happened in Bern…Apparently, I wasn't too careful at Cambridge."

Kim was right, it was something from the past…

Only he didn't look so proud of it.

Kim and I needed to be held over for the Inquest. General Colton didn't like that a whole lot, but since Kim was a major witness for the case against Pinley-Steward it was necessary for him to stay in England. Father, now installed as the head of Six, at Government request due to the resignations of Richards and many others of the Hierarchy when their ties to Pinley-Steward became known, did guaranteeing his safety while he remained over here.

However, Father made himself very clear; after the Inquest, we were to leave for America.

"I don't think I can keep the General sated for much longer than that." He explained to us. And also insisted that I apologize to General Colton for my rudeness towards him over the Telecom, while he was on the line.

Which General Colton graciously accepted, only after giving me a well deserved chewing out about my temper

That gave us a week to relax. Father and Mother made certain we wouldn't, couldn't be disturbed during that time.

But it was an effort ...

Within mere hours, the Media outlets had the full story of The Winter Boys' assorted evil doings as they claimed. A lot of it was outright tripe, meant to sensationalize on Walter Pinley-Steward's initial arrest for the attempted murder. But there was that which was leaked to the media from within Six's now fluxing interior, taken directly from information Palmer and the Business Manager had freely given while in custody. This drove Father utterly mad with rage, and he set out personally to 'plug the holes' back at the Office.

We didn't see him for three whole days. And when he returned, poor Father was utterly worse for ware. As we were from the media besieging the Manor, all the way up to the day of the Inquest. They, of course, tried latching onto Kim in all sorts of sensational ways when they discovered _who_ he was. But he told them quite clearly in person, on the very bright and clear day Father staggered back home, with several guards standing behind him, that the affair wasn't about _him _at all.

It was about Walter Pinley-Steward and _his_ crimes.

And on that very cheerful morning, the whole family was there as we in our best gave our testimony at the Inquest about all that had occurred. The legal aid Pinley-Steward hired for his defense, all seven of them, tried every conceivable trick and maneuver to disallow and discredit every shred of evidence against their client, even to direct attacks upon Kim's creditability as a witness for his part in the affair and his fugitive status as well. They even went after Palmer as well, though their request that his testimony be discredited due to his status of 'Murder' was laughable. The Media already had made him out to be the tragic hero of a tale spanning fifty years, persistently crusading against the 'absolute corruption' of the elite Winter Boys. And the public adored him for it, with thousands gathering to show their support from across all lines out in front of the Courthouse and across the country.

But Murder is a crime regardless. It was just the circumstances were highly unusual in this case, considering that those he murdered were they themselves murders as well—when it was _convenient_ for them to be, as Kim himself argued. And that these individuals couldn't be touched by any conventional legal means due to Walter Pinley-Steward's incredible skill and corrupted reach within the very justice system itself –which like Six, was undergoing its own reorganization due to several resignations.

The Justices had seen and herd enough of Pinley-Steward's affairs, and wholeheartedly considered all the evidence (even Kim's) to be creditable beyond a shadow of doubt finding him guilty of both the murder of Steward Randolph and my attempted murder. There were many other things pending that would come soon enough to light, and he would surely stand for them all…

While Roy Palmer could live out his life with full retirement from Six, without ever seeing a day in Prison.

As he was, flanked by six police officers, wearing one of those brown business suits but wearing ankle and wrist shackles, the 'Great' Walter Pinley-Steward sat through it all in silence.

And after the verdicts were given, after they stood him up to lead him away to the cell, Walter Pinley-Steward was openly crying.

Not that it moved me to tears; for all that he had done and tried to do…

But somewhere, I think, Professor Winter was crying too.

1 Author's Note--Soviet Agents from the 1950's till the 1970's often preyed upon members of Britain's Foreign Office and Intelligence Agencies when they discovered them to be closeted homosexuals, and threatened to expose them as such if they didn't cooperate with them.

Alan Turning, who's work in breaking the ENIGMA Code during the Second World War, and who also laid the mathematical ground work for the development of Computers, lost all governmental credibility and access when it was discovered that he was a homosexual in the 1950's which eventually led to his suicide.

16


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